


Theory of a Girl

by hesychasm (Jintian)



Series: Theory and Theurgy [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen, Slayers, Watchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-11-05
Updated: 2001-11-05
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:29:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jintian/pseuds/hesychasm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Beats dying, I guess."  Splits off from canon immediately after "The Gift."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> With nods to Kita's "Echoes," Gyrus' "Inside," and Zahra's Faith series -- all of which did it first, and better.

"I'd like to make a confession," I hear myself saying, over and over again. "Please, will someone listen to my story. I'd like to make a confession."

Sometimes I get my wish. Sometimes someone sits down next to me, and leans close so she can hear better. She does that, and I know she's going to listen.

So I begin to speak.

*

I turned eighteen about a month after I got to prison. For my birthday the Watchers Council sent me a lawyer.

I didn't think I'd be getting any visitors for a while, maximum security and all. But I guess someone over there convinced someone over here I was a special case.

Didn't keep them from chaining me up as well as they could, though. They brought me out in a steel wheelchair, my arms and legs handcuffed and strapped to the frame like Hannibal Lecter. There were a couple of guard types with guns who walked behind the nurse pushing me. A guy in a lab coat was there, too, carrying a yellow nasty-looking syringe.

"Some party," I said. "You sure you didn't wanna just go with the lap dance?"

They took me into a cinderblock room with a metal table bolted to the floor and parked me at one end. There weren't any windows, just like my cell, but the overhead light was harshly bright. I kept my eyes half-shut, waiting for them to adjust. The Slayer squad assumed positions in each corner, the guards farthest away and eyeballing me like man-sized cats.

Then the door opened again and a woman came in. Smaller than me -- smaller than B, even -- gray hair cut tight and short around her head. She sat down at the other end of the table and put on a pair of thin spectacles, low on her nose. She looked silently over them at me for a full ten seconds without expression.

I opened my eyes wide and glared back. She had a skinny pale mouth and a thin bird nose. I didn't like either.

"My name is Eva Warner," she said. "I represent the Council of Watchers."

I heard the English accent and every hair on the back of my neck stood up and shrieked. "You know, the last thing I need is a new Watcher. You've probably heard I'm not too good with those." I shifted so my handcuffs rattled against the armrests. "And the women Watchers? Don't have a very high survival rate."

"I am not here in the capacity of Watcher as yet," she said. "Presently I am to function as your lawyer."

"Yeah? Where the fuck were you when I was on trial?"

She raised her eyebrows. "At the time you had no need of one. You waived your right to an attorney when you confessed."

I shrugged as well as I could in the restraints. "Don't know much about how the law works, 'cept when I'm breakin' it." I looked at her. She was a dried out old shrimp in an ugly brown suit, hands folded on the table like somebody had plopped her down in the chair like a grandma doll. I let my lips spread in a smile. "I don't do too well with lawyers either. Or maybe what I mean is, they don't do too well with me."

She stood and her chair screeched against the floor. "Let me make one thing clear." Her voice was dry and cool, harder than Mrs. Post's and clipped shorter than Wesley's. "I will not brook threats from you. I shall instead remind you that you are hardly in a position to be making them." She came around the table. Her heels made small clicking sounds as she walked up to the lab coat and took the syringe from him.

"You gonna give me a shot?"

"No." She held it up. "This is to illustrate _my_ threat. Were you aware of what occurred on Buffy Summers' eighteenth birthday?"

"I'm thinking she didn't have a party as good as this one."

"What I hold is a muscle relaxant. It is used in a test called Cruciamentum. If a Slayer manages to reach the age of eighteen, her Watcher administers the relaxant to her without her knowledge. She will lose her strength and coordination for a few days. During that time she is locked in a confined space with a vampire, and must defeat him in order to pass the test."

I stared at the needle. I had to swallow before I could speak. "You fucking bastard pieces of shit."

She didn't even blink. "That would be the reaction of most Slayers. Those who survive, that is."

"You did that to Buffy? And now you want to do it to me? Fuck you. _Fuck_ you." I tried to lunge, but the straps and cuffs cut into my skin. In the corners of the room, the guards hefted the guns in their hands

"I said it was merely a threat." She lowered the syringe. "Rupert Giles informed Buffy of the test before she completed it, and now that I have informed you it renders the point somewhat moot." She leaned closer to me. "However, do not for one moment think the effects of the compound are. If you cannot control yourself, I shall be forced to use it."

"Why don't you just go ahead and try?" I snarled at her. "Matter of fact, put me through your fucking test. Sounds like a good and easy way to get rid of me."

She put the syringe down and started walking again. "There have been...changes in the Council in recent times. The last Cruciamentum didn't go as planned, not only because Mr. Giles compromised its secrecy but because the vampire managed to escape. Buffy was able to slay him, but not after he did a considerable amount of damage. The Council was prompted to suspend all future tests."

B had never told me any of this. Just another thing to add to the long list. I narrowed my eyes. "You're telling me all this because...?"

She nodded. "A gesture, if you will. We have each offered our threats, and now I have offered honesty. I expect you to do the same."

"Expect my ass. You still haven't said why you're even here."

"Simply put, because the Council wills it so. At present, we are content for you to serve your sentence out in the penitentiary. However, in addition to the justice of United States law, there is still the matter of our disciplinary methods." She paused and looked at me. "That is not meant as a threat. I am here first and foremost to establish exactly what your actions were as a rogue Slayer, and what type of mental state you are in now."

"Wicked birthday present -- a lawyer _and_ a shrink."

"If I determine that you are of sane mind and have achieved a certain measure of regret for your crimes, you will be presented with two options."

"Well, let's tell me what I'll win."

She paced back around the table. "You may, of course, decline to work for the Council, just as Buffy did. However, I will disclaim that statement with another one. This is also not a threat, but a truth. If you decline to work for the Council, we will have no choice but to call another Slayer." She stopped and looked at me over her spectacles. "I should remind you that the call lies with you now, and not with Buffy. Do you understand?"

I shook my head. "You know what? No. Why are you people still fucking with me? Just kill me and quit wasting my time already."

"We have put down rogue Slayers before, make no mistake of it. However, that was always as a last resort." She raised her hand. "As to the question of why, that answer lies with you. The Council cannot call you rogue anymore because of your present circumstances. Despite what you may think, we are not murderers."

I smirked at her disbelievingly, ignoring the pounding of my heart.

"I think you would find it to your benefit to rejoin our employ," she said. "For one thing, we have ways of abbreviating prison sentences, even across the globe. For another, you've just turned eighteen." She tilted her head at me. "I don't believe you are quite ready to die, Faith."

"Don't bet on it," I snorted.

She ignored that. "We may begin now. I would like to start with when you awakened from your coma." She pulled out her chair and sat, setting up a laptop and a tape recorder on the table.

"What if I don't want to tell you about that?"

"You'll tell me everything," she said, same level chill in her voice. "You have much to prove if you're to capitalize on this opportunity."

"Yeah? What if you decide I'm still a crazy murderer?"

"We have a good amount of time before I must come to a conclusion about your sanity," she said. "But if I do decide such, we'll revert to option number one and call a new Slayer."

"Guess I can't win either way."

She looked over those damn spectacles at me. "On the contrary. You have only to decide to try. That is always, in my experience, the most difficult part."

*

In max, we don't get a lot of options for using up our time. Every minute is locked into the next, this many for showering and shitting, this many for eating the slop they call food, this many for sleeping, this many for sitting in my cell and staring at the wall.

The hours fit together and smooth out into days, weeks. Sometimes it's like sitting in the middle of a dead, endless desert. Sometimes I blink and a whole afternoon's gone by. Sometimes at night I lie awake, picturing time in months and years, me skidding along on top all alone, hair going gray and skin growing wrinkles.

Beats dying, I guess.

I wasn't afraid of that for the longest time. Death, that is. Or maybe what I mean is I never really thought about it. I killed so many things that were dead already, I just sort of drew a line between the bad kind of death, where you have to suck blood to keep moving, and the kind that was okay, the kind where you just lie very still in the dark forever.

They don't give us a lot of dark here, either. There's no light -- no electricity at all -- in my cell, but it comes in from the corridor, a sick yellow that never lets up no matter what the hour. The only time it goes away is when I close my eyes.

I begged Angel to kill me. I'm still getting my brain around that idea, sitting here in my safe little cinderblock square while my life gets longer and longer. I wanted _somebody_ to kill me, anyway, somebody to just knock me into the dark where I wouldn't have to think about all this shit anymore.

But Eva called my bluff. I guess part of me knew the whole time there was something to wait around for. Otherwise, I could have just done it myself. Instead I tried to make people do the job for me. And in the end, I found myself with Angel -- the one person who I knew wouldn't.

*

Angel was the first person to come visit me after Eva. Three months in, she somehow convinced them I was ready for a downgrade to medium security, which meant I could have visitors with no restraints on the other side of a big piece of glass, so he came as soon as he could.

Getting ahead of myself, though. It's not like the move was an easy one to win.

She came twice a week with her skinny little laptop. I'd sit there strapped down in my wheelchair and listen to the sound of my voice falling into the tape recorder. I said a lot of things. Stupid things, smartass things. She asked me questions and typed what looked like every word I said in answer.

There was still a whole load of shit she didn't know. Private stuff like when I tried to strangle Xander or when I slept with Riley. I didn't feel like bringing any of it up, so we kept to facts mostly, things she already had in her reports, information the Council had been able to pull together.

"Tell me why you went back to that church, Faith. Why didn't you just catch your flight?"

I shrugged. "Couldn't let a bunch of vamps think they could do whatever they wanted after I left. Besides, South America? On second thought I bet they don't even have a word for ass-kicking in Spanish."

"You saved quite a few people that day. How did that make you feel?"

"I saved a lot of people before them. Besides, I was too busy running from the wrath of Queen B to really stop and explore my inner Slayer."

"Was that the first time you'd slain since waking up?"

I had to think about it. Not whether I remembered, but whether I wanted to remember. "No," I said. "There was a girl. I saved her from a vampire."

"Was there something not quite right about that?"

"It was nothing. Just...routine slayage."

She stopped typing and leveled her gaze at me over the spectacles. "Faith."

"What? She just thanked me. That's all."

"And how did that make you feel?"

"Whatever. It was just weird."

"Yes? Go on."

"What am I supposed to tell you?" I shifted, the metal of the chair biting into my legs. "That I felt like one of the good guys again? I don't _know_ what I felt."

"Did you remember that girl when you decided to go to the church?"

"Truth is, I wasn't really thinking anything except I was making a huge fucking mistake. Something always happens in the end to foil the bad guy's plan. Even the Mayor knew that."

"Ah yes, the Mayor."

My blood went to ice. "I'm not talking about the Mayor right now."

She peered at me. "No, perhaps not just yet. As I said, we have a good amount of time."

I kept trying to figure out what the point of all the questions was, if she was just going to keep busting out with "how did that make you feel?" She knew the facts already, had them all typed up and saved on the laptop. She probably could have told me what I was doing on any one of those nights and I wouldn't even have remembered it without her.

She asked about a lot of things to begin with. Whether being in B's body was what I'd expected (and of course, how it made me feel), what I thought now about the people I'd messed with when they believed I was her. She asked about when B caught me and switched us back, and what I did before getting to L.A.

I told her as little as possible. Said "I don't know" a lot and shit like, "What do you expect me to say?"

The whole time I kept thinking, it's weird how life works out. I thought for sure I'd gone through every last person who tried to help me. My first Watcher, B and her crew, Wesley, Angel. The Mayor, who even if he was evil and psycho and all of that badness still understood me.

He always wanted me to be whatever I was, not what someone else thought I should. Sometimes, I thought I'd still put the Mayor above the whole self-righteous load of them. I didn't know if I'd join up with him if I had it to do all over again, but he was the only person in the world who wasn't always trying to save me from something. He let me walk into whatever darkness I wanted, and he loved me because I didn't care how far I went.

At the time, anyway. Point being, I was never going to be able to explain that to Eva.

She didn't really react to the things I told her -- although maybe that was because the dumbed-down versions weren't very exciting. She just wanted more, firing off questions in her dry sticks voice. The answers I gave would only lead to more questions, more answers, more questions. We'd start the morning talking about Buffy's mom and then it'd be Christmas, and the presents I got for Joyce and B, and the fact that it snows all winter in Boston, and how my mom had this cheap-ass car that would always die on the first really cold day of every year.

Eva would just type, and sometimes her head would bob, sometimes she'd look at me, but it was always her asking, me talking. That was cool though. Not like I really liked much of the shit she had to say, anyway.

The only thing I was really interested in was the Council. I had a lot of time to myself for thinking, and since I didn't feel like thinking about me or any of the people I'd managed to screw in my short, twisted life, I'd think about the little things Eva had said about changes in the Council. She was still operating on her honesty policy, more or less. Weird because, after all, she was a lawyer _and_ trained as a Watcher.

I should have known to be more careful with her.

*

My dreams are wicked crazy. Always have been, even before I became the Slayer. I used to wake my mom with all the kicking and shouting. She'd come in the living room grouchy and bleary-eyed, all set to knock me off the lumpy couch so I'd quit.

The dreams got even weirder after I came out of the coma. Guess eight months stuck inside your own head will make you farm up some strange shit.

Tonight I'm lost in a house. It's one of those mansion deals, big with high ceilings, wood floors and lots and lots of connected bedrooms with big doorways and no halls. I'm running around in it, and there are people with me, and there's all this crazy furniture and lighting. Sometimes it's night, sometimes it's day. We climb stairs that open right into rooms and I keep searching for one I can have all to myself, without sharing.

I finally find it up on the fourth floor, and here the ceiling is a lot lower and there's no light in the room, but I'm used to that. The bed's a real bed, not a cot with an anorexic mattress, and I know up here I can just lie real still.

Problem is, nobody ever really gets what they want in their dreams. I look around and all of a sudden I'm in a room that takes up half the house, a ceiling three stories high and a spiral staircase leading down to a huge bed. The furniture and the walls are all trimmed in red and pink, like somebody made Valentine's Day explode.

I walk carefully down the stairs and toward the bed. It gets bigger and bigger as I get closer. There's someone lying propped against a pile of red and pink pillows, and she shrinks as the bed grows. I can't make out her face, or nail down anything about her, really -- hair color, eyes, clothes, nothing.

Finally I reach the bed's edge and climb on, slipping over the smooth puffy comforter toward the pillows and the tiny girl lost in them. It's a long crawl, and the end seems unreachable. I stretch out my hand toward her, hoping maybe she'll grasp it.

But she never does.

*

Medium security. Finally free to play with the other animals in cages, to go out in the yard and have recess. Just like elementary school, only with guards packing batons and mace. I moved to a new cell, still no windows or lights, but at least I didn't have to be followed around by the Slayer Squad every time I used the bathroom or talked with Eva.

She started opening our little convos up with questions about prison life, making sure I wasn't picking fights or hanging with a bad crowd, I guess. I could have told her she was about eighteen years too late for that.

Anyway, prison movies have it dead on. Something about me being the new kid on the block meant every bitch with a claim to stake went gunning for me. I was all set to play in the sandbox but they just wanted to teach me which corner I was supposed to sit in. Took a few rounds with my fists for them to revise the picture.

It was good to be fighting again. Really good -- blood and muscles buzzing under my skin, moving so fast and hard no one could stop me. The power that exploded behind every blow, enough force to crush flesh and bone.

I didn't escape without a scratch. I hadn't gotten enough shit together to buy a knife, and there were a couple of fights with girls who had, and who knew how to use them. Not to mention the guards, who would sometimes look the other way when fights broke out, but when the warden was on the block would come in swinging.

Every time I turned up with a brand new cut or bruise, Eva would give me that what-the-fuck-is-your-problem look over her spectacles.

"You are risking particular danger with these altercations," she said once.

"I can handle myself," I told her. "One or two pissed off dykes got nothing on demons."

"And if the situation were twenty to one? What then?"

"That'd be fuckin' tight!" I socked a fist into my hand. "Twenty to one are the only kind of odds I put money on."

"You would do well to show a measure of care. The Council is not in the habit of raising Slayers from the dead." She pressed her lips together and got ready to start typing again.

So like I was saying. Angel was the first person to visit me besides Eva. Well, actually, he was the _only_ person.

I didn't tell them about each other. I guess I could have, just for something to talk about, but I could see the various issues that might crop up, what with Angel's extreme hate for the Council and the Council's extreme hate for vamps.

I wasn't sure who to expect when the guards told me I had a visitor -- a real visitor. I figured any number of people would love to see with their own eyes that I was locked away in this shithole. I just hoped it wasn't somebody like B or Wesley.

When I sat down and saw him, there were a few seconds when I could have burst into laughter or tears. He'd only have to snap his fingers. I breathed a few times, trying to think of something to say.

He must have seen it in my face, because his expression got all worried and his eyebrows did that wrinkly droopy thing. He picked up the phone and motioned at me to do the same on my side.

"How are they treating you?" he said.

I found my voice. "Oh, five by five, babe. Full body massages, bubble baths, hot naked guys. Can't believe I spent so much time avoiding this place."

Angel gave me a look.

I sighed. "I'm all right. I mean, at least I'm not dead, you know? I'm alive."

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "I guess that's as much as you can ask for right now."

I nodded back. "So how's your summer been so far?"

He thought about that for a moment. "Not very sunny."

"Well, whaddaya know." I barked a laugh. "Mine too."

He smiled. "Yeah, you're getting as pale as me."

"I wouldn't know. Not a lot of mirrors in this place." I studied him. He looked exactly the same, of course. I wanted to ask him about B, and about Wesley and Cordelia and what was going on in the real world, but I didn't. I couldn't, not yet anyway.

Angel leaned in close, as if I could hear him better that way. "How are you, Faith? Really?"

I shrugged. "Like I said. I'm alive."

*

So I keep thinking it. I'm alive. Problem is, at the end of the day, what do you do with that?

Memories are strange things. Especially mine, random as they are. I'll be taking a shower and I'm suddenly in that alley, Buffy screaming, "Faith, no!" and the stake in my hand driving into Finch's heart. Or I'll be carrying my food tray to a table and I'll hear Joyce calling me a raving psychotic.

There is so much blood on my hands and it all belongs to other people. I can't even count how many times I've run into death and gotten away. How come I'm the one that survives? After all the killing I've done, when will it be my turn?

I've never really asked Angel how he deals. He just sort of volunteers advice on his own. Someday I want to ask him how he feels about dying. Whether he's scared of it, whether he thinks he deserves it and that's why he keeps trying to help people.

I want to ask him how he knows he's working on the right side. What tells him he's a good person? Just because he's got a soul?

I have a soul, too. And the Mayor had one, when he was a regular man. Even Mrs. Post did. No vampires turned us.

I wish someone would just lay it out for me. How all this good and evil shit works. I killed one guy and suddenly everybody thought I was in huge danger. Guess they were right in the end. I decided I didn't care what I did, and then I decided I must be bad for not caring. So I tried to be as bad as possible.

But I know I'm not the only person in the world who's killed, and I know there are people who have who still walk around free and have friends and families who love them and don't care what they did.

I just want somebody to say it straight, what's so different about me?

*

Medium security meant I got a roommate, since the pen was like most others -- overcrowded.

Her name was Christina. The first night I moved in we compared rap sheets, and she nodded at my murder and mayhem like I'd just told her what the weather was like. She'd been in ten years already for grand theft, accidentally killing a guy with a crowbar during said theft, and beating a couple of cops with it when they tried to arrest her.

She was this older chick with muscles bigger than most pro wrestlers, and an even nastier face. But the funny thing about her was that in such a huge package of ugly she had this great voice, like a singer would have if singing were talking. It was all bells and music, and I sometimes got her into conversations just because I liked hearing her talk.

As far as I could tell she wasn't into girls so we never had any confrontations. Not that I would have minded a little help from her direction. After a few months you can get really tired of using your hand.

Christina's big thing was meditation. She used to sit in the middle of our floor with her eyes closed like Buddha or something and be completely silent for two whole hours. There was this feeling of relaxation that came out of her, but I could sense a weird energy in the room as well, because even though her eyes were shut she was completely awake.

After a few days of watching I finally asked if I could try. I figured it would give me something to do to pass the time, anyway.

She gave me a very serious look. "I don't do this because I'm bored. That's just missing the point."

"So...what's the point?"

"It's for listening to yourself. Sometimes you've got things to say you'd never hear because there's too much other shit going on inside your head."

I grinned. "Sounds like the thing for me already. So what kind of stuff does your inner self tell you? Are you a good person? Are you sorry for everything you did? Will you make parole?"

Christina shook her head. "It's not like that. I know I did wrong, but I also know I can't change that. So no use crying about it."

"Yeah? So if I meditate I'll feel the same way?"

Her mouth twisted. "It took me a few years. Keep your panties on."

I sat across from her on the cold cement floor and copied how she fit her legs together. "So what do I do?"

"Sit up straight," she instructed. "Don't slouch. Now close your eyes."

I did what she said. "Okay, what now?"

"Imagine a connection between your spinal cord and the ground. Imagine there's energy flowing through it, in and out of you."

"Kinda kinky," I said.

"Are you doing this or not?"

"Okay, okay." I pictured a thread of white light running down my back and tried to sit as straight as possible so it would reach up into the sky.

"Relax your shoulders," came Christina's voice, low and soothing. "Breathe deep. Breathe slow. Push it down into your stomach and pull it back out again. Do that until it's regular, then stop thinking about it."

She got quiet and I did that for a while. The only thing I could hear was our breathing. I started to feel kind of drowsy.

"Now's the hardest part," she said softly. "Try to get all the thoughts out of your head, but don't push too hard. It's okay if you have thoughts, as long as you don't try to follow them anywhere. You're just trying to listen to yourself."

I tried to do what she said. I tried to let all the thoughts flow out of my head until everything was silent in there. No Buffy, no Angel, no Mayor, none of the people I killed or tortured or hurt. No Sunnydale, or Boston, or Los Angeles. No prison.

I tried to make everything quiet inside, to listen for the thing that was underneath it all, for Faith.

*

Christina says the goal of meditation is so I can have control over my thoughts and emotions all the time. Basically what she means is, I'll have inner peace. She says she's been trying for a while, and she's nowhere close yet.

I feel like telling her I don't have a whole lot of time. I know when I get out of here I'll be doing a lot of slaying, pretty much wherever and whenever the Council tells me to. I know Slayers die young, and the Council doesn't really do much to change that.

I wonder just how long they plan to keep me in here. Wonder if I'll make it to minimum security before Eva decides I'm not crazy. Minimum security means I get to go on work detail out on highways and shit. And if I had a significant other, I could request private time with him for an hour.

Too bad it's only Angel trekking out here. Hell, I'd even go for Xander right about now. Maybe if I had inner peace I wouldn't be so dying for a good fuck.

I keep trying to imagine myself all serene and peaceful. That'd be a way different Faith. I keep wondering if it's possible to be all still inside and not be dead first.

Sometimes I lose my temper with Eva. I mean, I try to answer all her questions, give her the straight story and minimum lip. But lately it's like she's going beyond just the facts, like she doesn't consider any subject too personal, too painful. She keeps coming at me like I'm hiding something and if she doesn't find it, it'll be the end of the world. Which I guess, if you're talking about Slayers, has some truth to it.

I don't know what Eva's looking for anyway. Unless it's the loony everyone keeps saying is there. Sometimes I think that's probably what she'll find.

*

Eva once asked me whether I had any sexual feelings about B, and maybe I got up on the wrong side of the cot that morning, but I just lost it.

My voice crashed against the walls. "So what if I fucking did? Fucking everybody wants to get in that chick's pants. Why should I be any different?"

"You did get into her pants," Eva said, with a scratchy dry voice. "Quite literally."

"Oh, fuck you, anyway." I stood. My hands and feet were handcuffed together and the cuffs were connected by a heavy chain, but I could walk around if I moved slow. "What do you know about it? Nothing. Whatever some stupid fucker wrote in some stupid fucking report."

"I think it's time we talked in depth about your relationship with Buffy Summers, instead of just glancing at the topic tangentially. What do you think is the root of your fascination with her?"

I couldn't believe her, throwing big words around like she could analyze my goddamn emotions. "You expect me to explain something like this to you? When I don't even get it myself?"

She nodded. "You have trouble verbalizing. You lack an objective perspective, of course. Why don't I suggest a few descriptive terms and you tell me what you think of them?"

"What, you wanna describe me fucking B?"

Eva notched an eyebrow. "Jealous. Envious."

"You think I'm jealous of _Buffy_. Buffy Summers." I shook my head. "Obviously you never met her."

"Why don't you tell me about her?"

"Why should I? I'm sure that's all you Council types do, is talk about Buffy."

"We also spend a good amount of time talking about you, of course."

"Nice to know I'm famous."

Eva did the look-over-spectacles thing. "Faith, you are being quite uncooperative."

"Hey, what do you expect? You want me to bare my soul to you just because you say so? Ever heard of privacy? Maybe I don't want all this written down on your fucking laptop."

"That is a valid point." She raised her hands from the laptop and showed me her palms. "However, in order to make a fully informed judgment about you for the Council, you will need to tell me something."

"How about it's none of your fucking business."

"It may not be, but it should be obvious even to you that your feelings for Buffy were highly influential of your actions. I'm not referring simply to the body switching, but also to your earlier separation from the group in Sunnydale and your defection to the Mayor's camp."

I stomped around, listening to the chains jingle and scrape against the floor, trying to make them block out her voice.

"Faith, heed what I'm saying. It is only for your benefit."

"I did _not_ sign up with the Mayor because I was jealous of Buffy."

"No, but would you have if your relationship with her had been on better terms?"

"Look." I stopped and gestured at her. "It takes two people to make a relationship, am I right? So don't act like this is all on me. And anyway, I switched sides because I _killed_ a guy. And that -- killing him -- had nothing to do with Buffy. It was an accident."

"Why didn't you accept the help that Buffy offered?"

"Help?" I shouted. "She didn't offer shit. It was all 'we have to tell someone, Faith!' and 'what you did was wrong, Faith!' and _none_ of it was going to fix what happened. She just wanted to get rid of her own damn guilt but you know what the problem was? _I_ was the one who did it, not her! She wanted me to take the fall so she could feel better about her own damn self."

Eva looked at me without blinking. "There are several contradictions in what you have just said."

"So the fuck what?"

She shook her head and took off her spectacles. "Do you still believe Buffy was wrong? Do you believe you should have just kept Allan Finch's death secret?"

"I don't know!" I snapped. "It doesn't do shit to say should have. The only thing I'd change about the whole thing is not doing it. If I hadn't done it, I know fucking well and good I wouldn't be sitting here right now."

"If you hadn't done many things, you wouldn't be sitting here," Eva said. "You made a series of choices after that one accident, Faith. Not many of them were good choices."

"I screwed up, all right? I screwed up again and again and I never felt sorry for it. I'm a horrible person and somebody should have killed me a long fucking time ago."

"Everyone makes mistakes, Faith. What matters is how you make reparations for them."

I thought someone had told me something like that once, but I couldn't really remember. "And isn't that what I'm doing now?" I yelled at her. "I'm in prison, remember?"

"Yes," she said. "But do you feel sorry for what you did?"

"You know, I don't know what that means. People keep saying I should feel sorry, but how do I know what sorry is? I could just _say_ I was, and how would you know if I was lying or not?"

"Actually, it was somewhat of a rhetorical question. I don't think you've reached complete remorse as yet. But that you are following this line of thought shows progress."

I snorted. "Oh yeah? Progress to what exactly?"

"Don't you know?" she said, and gave me a hard look. "Another chance."

*

So instead of staring at the wall now I spend my hours meditating. I don't think it's making a difference yet but Angel seems pleased when I tell him about all the different breathing exercises Christina puts me through. He says I should look into Tai Chi, that it's a way of controlling my body as well as my mind.

I can feel the difference in me physically, after being here for almost half a year. I think I'm weaker, that my coordination's worse and I probably couldn't go two rounds with a vamp before needing a break. But then maybe it's all in my head. Slayer powers don't go away just because you don't use them as much, do they?

I remember feeling different when I came out of the coma. I've learned a little about it since I've been here and apparently bad shit happens to your body when you're stuck in a hospital bed for a long time. Like, atrophied muscles and bedsores and crap. I think I escaped any major damage due to supernatural healing or whatever, but still, it felt weird. Like I'd forgotten how my body worked and needed to learn it all over again.

Then, of course, I was in B's body. It's strange -- I didn't have much trouble getting used to that.

So maybe Eva's close to the truth of how I feel about Buffy. And the thing is, even if it's none of her business, I know it's not all that hard to figure out. I mean, I get called and my Watcher tells me, "Oh, you know, sorry kid, you're supposed to be the one and only Slayer, but this other one before you sort of messed things up and now you've got to share." My one chance to be the best at something and it turns out I'm only second best after all.

B has her place in Sunnydale. She knows who she is, what she has to do, who can help her do it. I was just trying to fit in somewhere. Problem was, when I killed Finch I realized I couldn't even fit in as a Slayer.

I remember B coming to L.A. and reaming Angel a new asshole for wanting to give me another chance. She was so sure she was in the right, that there was no hope for me. It was just so typical. She could never see past whatever affected her directly. Other people's problems weren't her problems unless they got in her way.

Solution for someone like me, confused as hell and fucking up right and left? Just kill her. She doesn't deserve to live.

Eva asks me if I feel sorry for all the things I've done, and I want to throw back at her, "Does Buffy? Does she feel sorry for all the people she's stepped on and used like her own little toy soldiers? No, of course not, because she _believes_ what I told her about Slayers, that we're better than the rest of the world. She'd just never admit it."

I wonder what she's up to in good old Sunnydale now. If there's been any apocalypses lately, if she's still with that Riley chump, if she knows Angel comes to visit me. I wonder if she thinks about me at all.

*

I was in a craptacular mood when Angel came one day, premenstrual and pissed because some of the pansy-ass guards on my block had been giving me shit. I walked in and sat across from him, watched his face fold into a frown as he got a look at my black eye.

"What happened?"

I grimaced. "Met up with the wrong end of somebody's baton. With a couple of somebody's batons, actually."

"They beat you?"

"Yeah, well, I'm an uppity bitch, so..."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Ah, it's not so bad. In a way, it kind of reminds me of good times growing up."

He shook his head. "I know you had a hard time with your family. Why do you joke about it like that?"

"You don't know shit about it, Angel," I said calmly. "I make jokes because if I didn't, I'd probably have my head all up my ass just like you."

He blinked, and I sighed.

"Look," I said, "maybe this isn't such a good idea today. I mean, I know you came all this way and everything but I'm just not feeling like playing nice Faith right now."

"Who said I was only interested in nice Faith?" Angel leaned in close and put his hand against the glass. I wondered if, with his vampire strength, he could break it. I didn't even know anymore if I could do it. "What's wrong?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Nothing. Everything. The usual."

"Like...? Talk to me, Faith."

"There's just not much to _say_. How many different ways can I talk about how fucked up I am? How if I hadn't ruined my own goddamn life I wouldn't be in this shithole?"

He looked at me with that stupid expression he gets, the one that looks like his feelings are hurt even when the conversation has fuck-all to do with him. "Okay, maybe you don't have to talk about it," he said. "I mean, I know you're trying to make amends, being here and all. Maybe you should just let that be enough for a little while, and not think so much about the other stuff." His expression cleared. "Except, those guards beating you up? That's not what I'd call making amends."

"Yeah, I was thinking something wasn't quite right about that." I smirked.

"Faith." His voice was quiet and serious. "I know what you're going through. But don't believe what happens to you in here, or what happened to you before, means that you're a bad person. I think you made some bad choices, and you did some horrible things. But I also don't think you'd be the Slayer if you couldn't redeem yourself."

Suddenly it was hard to speak. "And just how am I supposed to do that, Angel? I'm not the Slayer anymore, not locked up like this. By the time they let me out I bet I won't even remember how to stake a vampire."

"You're just waiting right now," he said. "I did that, too. Most of the twentieth century for me was about waiting. Waiting for something to happen, for someone to pick me up out of the dirt and give me a purpose in life. It's hard, I know, but you've just gotta be patient."

"What do you think my purpose in life is?" I whispered.

He looked surprised. "I'd say...fighting evil, wouldn't you? It's what you did before."

"Yeah, but I obviously wasn't very good at it."

Angel nodded. "You know, I don't think it's something you're automatically good at, either. People make mistakes, Faith. They do wrong. You just have to learn you can move past that, and get back on track with your life."

I shook my head. "I was wrong even before I killed anyone."

"How so?"

"All that power you told me once that comes from taking a life? That was nothing new to me. I _always_ felt like that when I was slaying."

He just kind of sat there for a minute, thinking. "What do you mean?" he said finally. "You feel powerful because you're strong and fast? Or because you kill demons and save people?"

"Well, both. I mean, I used to." I searched his face. "Haven't you ever felt the same thing? With all the good guy shit you're always doing?"

"Yes," he admitted, "I have. But why does that mean you were wrong?"

I shrugged. "Because it wasn't enough, I guess. It wasn't enough for me even when I thought I was better than everyone else. I don't know -- B and me never saw it the same way. She wigged when I tried to explain it to her."

"There are a lot of things Buffy doesn't understand," Angel said gently. "And maybe you were wrong, I don't know because I wasn't there, but you never had to think like her to be a good Slayer."

I shrugged again. "I'm just trying to figure out what _is_ the right way to think."

Angel sighed. "In a lot of ways, there really isn't one. You just have to do the best you can."


	2. Chapter 2

There's so much mess in my head, always has been. Nobody's ever sat down with me and tried to fold it up nice and neat. I wouldn't even know where to begin now. Doesn't matter how much time I spend meditating, or blabbing to Eva, or wishing shit was different -- it's all still there, and it's not moving out any time soon.

Some of it isn't bad, though. Some of it's good, even. When B and I were out on the town, kicking ass, taking names, burning the postcards. When her friends were all crowded around me in the Bronze listening to my stories. When I was running in graveyards and dusting the undead. When the Mayor would give me stuff just because he wanted to. When Angel was drying the rain off of me and saying it would be okay, that I'd be all right.

We never talked about how he found a cure for the poisoned arrow. It's not that I can't put two and two together, it's just one of those things you don't bring up unless he does it first. I guess that's probably why he ended up leaving Sunnydale, because he did the worst thing a vampire could ever do to a Slayer, without killing her.

Part of me always got Angel because he knew he wasn't right there. For all there was the big soulmates and undying love crap with B, when it comes to "love me love my dog" the Scoobies never quite picked up the ticket. Angel and me were the same -- the wannabes, the outsiders, the people who were almost but not exactly.

Now he's in L.A., he's got a home, people whose good side he actually cares about being on. It's a place where he's got his own circle -- he's the big It, and it doesn't matter if the girl he's dating can bring him to meet her friends.

That sounds so normal when I think about it. We're not normal, though, and maybe that's what freaked me out so much about that night with Riley. What was B thinking, anyway? No way was she ever going to be able to have something all corn and white bread like that, not after Angel.

We'll never be normal. Not me, not B, not any of these vamps and demons who keep turning up to fuck with our lives. Thing is, I'm actually cool with that -- I never understood why she wasn't. It's probably the only part of my life I've ever been cool with.

*

Angel came almost every other week for a good long while, and then all of a sudden there was a stretch where he didn't. I didn't have access to a phone or email or anything like that, so I had no idea what happened to him. I didn't know if he'd been staked or injured or what.

When someone you're expecting doesn't show up, it does something to your days. The hours get longer and longer, and you start cutting them apart -- fifteen minutes have passed, is he here yet? It's been half an hour -- is that guard coming for me? It's morning now -- will today be the day?

The weeks dragged by and turned into months and I kept looking at the calendar and thinking, "Maybe he's working on a long case. Maybe he just keeps getting held up."

And then a small voice started saying, "Maybe he's just tired of you."

It does something inside, too. I felt like there was this huge hole in my chest, and that a cold wind had gotten stuck in there and was making a storm of noise and hurt.

When Angel started visiting me, that picture I had in my head of me skidding alone on top of the years had turned into something different. I'd imagined him standing at the end of it, waiting patiently and looking the same as always. But when he stopped, I started seeing myself alone again.

Even Eva noticed there was something wrong. "You look quite pale," she said. "And thin. Are they not feeding you sufficiently?"

I covered by saying I thought I'd caught a bug, but the fact that she asked wigged me out. I hadn't realized how much I depended on seeing Angel. It just wasn't like me, it wasn't _Faith_. Faith had never needed anybody but herself.

Suddenly I was in this danger zone and I didn't know how I'd gotten there. Someone could make me a wreck just by disappearing? Fuck that action.

There wasn't a whole lot to do in the pen to keep my mind off of shit, hence the reason I'd started meditating. They did let us have things like books, and writing supplies, and time in the yard. I hadn't read or written anything serious since -- well, I never really did read or write anything serious. But when you're going apeshit knocking around the walls it's time to start some new habits.

Not that I turned into a bookworm. Just once in a while I'd see a book with a cool cover, pick it up, and then realize two hours had passed when I finally put it down. I even remembered some of the stories later, like this one about this English kid who wore glasses and was actually a wizard or something. I could have told him magic is a real bad thing to get mixed up with when you're that young.

Time in the yard I spent exercising, throwing air punches and kicks, doing flips off the walls. Word had finally gotten around to everybody that I gave a guaranteed ass-kicking, so the others just sort of watched me out of the corner of their eyes.

Eventually one of them grew a pair and asked if I could teach her some stuff.

She was this tiny little chick with nasty frizzy black hair, scrawny like a chicken. She looked like the Southie kids I used to run with, all tough as nails but half a step away from death's door.

"Sure," I said. "Lemme see what you got."

So I sparred with her, and kicked her ass, but then the next day she came back, and after that more people decided to join the party and I sparred with them too. Me against all of them at the same time, a rumble all over the yard while the guards looked the other way.

After half a week it got crowded and people started pairing off. It was fucking amazing, must have been twenty or thirty women going at each other with fists and feet, yelling and grunting at the top of their lungs. I threw myself right into the middle of it, got a shiner, got the wind knocked out of me, got my tits grabbed, lost some hair, cracked an elbow. I think I was laughing the whole time.

Then the guards wised up that it probably wasn't a bright idea to let us get good at the ultraviolence, so they waded in with their batons, knocked a few heads together, and threw me and a few other chicks into solitary for two weeks. Eva was royally pissed, and I spent the whole time meditating.

A couple of days after I got out, Angel came to see me.

*

Eva tells me I should be writing my thoughts down, like in a journal. She says that's the way to track the progress I'm making. She even brought me a notebook and a pen. Later I opened the notebook up and tried to say something meaningful about the stuff in my head, but I ended up just doodling some shit.

When I was a kid I used to make up little comic books. Too bad my drawing never got past crappy. Most of my superheroes had heads that looked like lopsided cabbages.

I played superheroes back then, too. Every time the kids on the block got together I'd boss them into letting me be the good guy with awesome powers. Then I'd run around saving the victims from the bad guys with my x-ray vision, or my cosmic strength, or my invisibility.

Didn't know I'd get a chance to be a real superhero when I got older. Didn't know that even superheroes could fuck up sometimes.

I wish I could go back to when I was called, find whoever the hell chose me to be the Slayer and say, "Don't even think about it." I mean, who does this crap? They should have known, just looking at me, that I was bad shit waiting to happen.

B told me Kendra was totally wrapped up in the Slayer life, that she'd been training for it forever. Me, I got my training stealing shit for kicks, fighting off my mom and her drunk bastard boyfriends, fucking any guy who looked at me twice. I know when my first Watcher Nora met me, she thought she'd made a mistake and approached the wrong girl.

I wasn't ready for Kakistos. Not after pissing my life down the toilet for sixteen years. You have to have more than just superpowers to fight a vamp that big and bad. That's why it took Buffy to get rid of him.

She has something I don't. I mean, I know it works like that anyway. I know I have things she doesn't, that I can't be her and vice versa, and that I shouldn't want to. But it's like all the extra Faith-only things that I have mean jack shit, and all the extra Buffy-only bits are what make her so much better in everyone's eyes. She's the good Slayer, and I'm the bad one. She's the superhero, and I'm just the wannabe.

*

You know how you picture something happening in your head, over and over, and you imagine all these different ways and varieties for how it could turn out, and then when it comes time for reality you find out there's one more possibility you just didn't think of?

So color me with my fucking jaw on the floor. Angel had a breakdown? Darla, the vamp tramp he dusted, came back from the deader-than-undead? He fired Cordelia and Wesley and then fucked said tramp? He had sex and didn't lose his soul?

Better believe I perked up at that piece of news.

He was worried and his eyebrows mushed together, and he said he was sorry about a million different times in about a million different ways.

"Relax," I told him. "It's not like you went psycho on me. Far as I'm concerned, you just had a really long vacation from running the Faith Friends Network."

"Faith," he said, and his voice was all this-is-serious. "I let you down. I should have been here for you."

I laughed at him, even though inside the old lonely fear was up and lurching around. "They're really taking you for a guilt trip, aren't they?" I said. "Angel, it's totally cool. I can take care of myself. I'm used to it."

"That doesn't mean you have to keep it up," he said. "It's okay to depend on other people. I mean, it's usually okay, when they don't disappear on you for months at a time."

"Never really known the other kind," I said lightly, and regretted it the second his face fell. "Look, that came out wrong. I just -- what I mean is, right now all of this stuff, this shit, it's on me to straighten it out. I can't make other people do it for me."

"I don't want to do it for you," he said. "I'm just trying to help."

"Yeah, I know that," I told him. "But I'm so fucked in the head right now I'd just end up pushing it all on you anyway. And you'd probably take it because you're such a goddamn nice guy." I grinned at him. "But it's my baggage, and I'm the only one who can fix it. I need to remember that."

"So what are you saying?" he asked. "Do you not want me to visit anymore?"

"What? No!" I was picturing more of those long empty months. "That's not it. I like seeing you. Not a lot of guys to talk to in here." I gave him a leery grin and he looked embarrassed. "I mean, I guess I just needed to say all of that stuff out loud. Makes it more real than just thinking it."

Angel nodded. "I understand that."

"So..." I said. "Anything else new in your life besides ill-advised sexual relations?"

He gave me a look, and I laughed again. Then I saw on his face that he was putting words together to say something, and I sobered up. He said, "I just came back from Sunnydale last night."

Shit, even the word put chills down my spine. "Visiting B?"

He shook his head. "In a way. I was mostly there for comfort. Her mother passed away."

For a few seconds, I couldn't speak. I wasn't even thinking about Joyce or B, I was just blank. "How?" I finally managed. "When?"

"A few days ago. She'd had surgery recently for a brain tumor and they think this was related to that. It was very sudden."

"Christ," I muttered. "And B?"

"She's not okay," Angel said simply. "She's got a lot on her plate, with Dawn and all."

"Yeah. I guess." I looked straight at him. "Man. I mean, the last time I saw Joyce we weren't on the best terms."

Angel almost smiled. "Same here."

The moment stretched between us. "So now what are your plans?"

He sighed. "I've got a lot of things to work out with the others. It's not completely right with them. I don't know if it'll ever be the same."

"Don't tell me you're worried, Mr. Everybody Deserves Forgiveness. They'll come around. You'll make 'em come around."

"Sure," he said, shrugging. "It'll just take some time."

"And if they don't," I continued, "just wait till I get out of here. We'll be the best Slayer/vampire demon-defeating team in the whole damn state. The whole country, even."

Same almost smile. "Promise?" he said.

"Hell yeah."

"No, I mean, you promise you'll get out of here?"

I grinned at him. " _Hell_ yeah."

*

After a few weeks, my dreams start getting strange again.

Night, and blood dripping slowly in a dark sky, sun peeking over the edge of the world. I see B and she's running up somewhere high, and then she's falling but it looks like she's flying. And I dive after her, only I'm diving upward, pushing off from the ground to catch her in midair.

"You're going to miss everything," I say. We're floating now, and I come right up close to her face. I can see it's scrubbed clean, free of makeup. I can see her skin glowing like there's a light right underneath it. "Doesn't that make you all weepy?"

"I'm dried up," she tells me. "So no, I don't care."

"I said that once. Couldn't you tell I'm a bad liar?"

"You're bad and you're a liar. That's how it really works."

I turn away from her. "You still think that about me. And I even wore your face."

Her hand strong on my shoulder, pulling me back around. Behind her the sky on fire, pulsing white energy and bolts of lightning. "It's on you now," she says. "You said it yourself. Here's your forty-second chance." She takes her hand from my shoulder, holds it up so I can see the thing balanced in her palm.

It's a stake.

"This is yours. Finally." B laughs, and she actually looks friendly for once, really friendly. "Mr. Pointy was pointing backwards. Now he's going the right way."

I take the stake from her and wrap my hand around it, feeling the smooth worn grip. "Am I supposed to slay vampires with this?"

"Oh, yeah," she says, "and lots of other things too. Don't worry. It's a lucky one."

"Buffy." Suddenly afraid, suddenly wanting to grab onto her and hold tight. "Don't leave."

She leans over to kiss me on the lips. "Good morning," she whispers against my mouth. It's an airy feeling, this shared oxygen, warm and gently moving. "I forgot to tell you that before -- good morning."

And then, of course, she's gone.

*

When Eva came to see me three days later with a squad of Watchers in black leather, I already knew B was dead.

The cinderblock room felt even smaller than ever as they looked at me across the table. Eva seemed almost naked without her spectacles.

"It seems we have run out of time, Faith," she said. "I have judged you fit for rehabilitation with the outside world, and the Council is now in need of a Slayer."

Slayer. That was me, the only one alive now. I swallowed. "Guess I'm your gal."

She nodded, once and sharp. "Then from this moment you will defer to me as your Watcher. Come with us."

"Right now?"

"Yes. Now."

So just like that, I was out. Goodbye, Christina. Goodbye, black-haired girl and all the women in the yard. Goodbye, guards. They unlocked my handcuffs, took me to get my belongings, walked me through all the doors and checkpoints until we were standing in the bright, hot sun.

Shit. Even the air smelled different. I felt like an animal someone had just let out of a box, out of my own stink.

"You'll ride with me," Eva said. I followed her through the parking lot to a black SUV. She and I both got into the backseat, with two of the leather guys up front. The others disappeared into the parking lot.

Then we were driving away, and I twisted around to look at the prison. I still remembered the first and only time I ever saw it from the outside, when I came in the armored van from the courthouse. But that had been close up, because they drove right into the yard where new prisoners got unloaded. So actually, this was my first time seeing it from a distance.

It loomed like a big gray bulldog at first, getting smaller and smaller through the rear window, until finally we turned a corner and I couldn't see it anymore.

"So what's up?" I said, turning back to Eva and giving her my best Slayer face. "You the boss of me now?"

"As far as slaying is concerned, yes." She'd put on her spectacles. "There will be some differences from what you were used to before."

"Like what, you'll actually pay me?"

"We will give you a weekly allowance of petty cash," she agreed. I gaped at her. "Not a large amount, but it should be sufficient for your personal needs. However, I was specifically referring to this, for one." She handed me a tiny black cell phone. "I expect you to keep this on your person at all times. If you should happen to go out by yourself you mustn't under any circumstances turn it off."

"A phone? Fucking awesome." I inspected it, grinning. Not the cheap kind.

"It is not for social use," she said. "Only we will know the number, and we will keep track of all calls you make with it."

I pressed the buttons, setting the clock and the welcome message to say Hey Sexy. "What else?"

"I have drawn up a weekly schedule for you, with time marked for training, patrolling, and studying."

"Party time? Dinner time?"

She ignored me. "You and I will live in the same house. Two other Watchers will also live in the house with us at all times, but they will have rotating shifts."

"Do I get my own room?"

"Yes. However, any guests you wish to bring inside must be cleared with one of us. There is one rule which will never change: no vampires."

"Well, yeah --"

"Do you understand?" she interrupted. "If you invite a vampire into the house, it will be staked immediately upon discovery and you will suffer dire consequences." She gave me a hard, probing look.

"Christ," I muttered, turning the cell phone off. "You knew about Angel, didn't you?"

"Of course. The penitentiary records all interactions between visitors and inmates on silent video. Angelus is well known."

"Then you should know he's different. He helped me."

"His soul is not a guarantee against danger. There will be no exceptions."

"Okay. But as long as I don't invite him in I can still see him, right?"

"Correct, though I hardly approve." She continued, "When you leave the house you must inform us of all possible destinations, people you may wish to meet, and you must specify a time at which you will return. However, for the first two weeks this will not be necessary as one of us will accompany you everywhere."

"Figures," I said, slumping down in my seat.

"These measures are quite a bit more lenient than what you have been used to for the past year. If I were you I shouldn't complain."

I glared at her. "Was I complaining? I realize I'm in deep shit and I have to listen to you, okay? Just don't get on my back if I'm not jumping for joy with it."

She didn't even blink. "Neither did I say you _were_ complaining, in the strictest sense. When I 'get on your back,' Faith, you will know the difference."

The two guys up front hadn't said a word the whole time. I looked away from Eva and nodded at them. "So you gonna introduce us? I like to know who's got my life in their hands."

She motioned to the driver, a guy about thirty with a white scar running from his eyebrow to his mouth. "This is Edmund Camp." The guy in the passenger seat was older, hair silvery blond. "This is Wallace Marks." Neither of them turned around.

"Great," I said. "I'm sure we'll be best buds in a week or two. So where are we going, anyway? I hear L.A.'s a rockin' town."

Eva looked at me over her spectacles. "There will be dark forces stirring once news of Buffy's death spreads. Every vampire and demon on the West Coast, and some from even further away, will realize the Hellmouth is vulnerable."

I sat up slowly. "You're fucking kidding me."

"Indeed not. The likelihood is very strong that the area will become a focal point for demonic activity, even more so than in the past. It is imperative that we have a Slayer there."

"I am _not_ going back to Sunnydale." My hands were starting to shake, and I was having trouble forcing my voice out of my throat, but I had to tell her, I had to make her understand. "How could you even think this was a good idea after all the shit I did there?"

"Your history in Sunnydale has no bearing on the matter."

"It fucking well should!" I yelled. Still the other Watchers kept facing forward. "Aren't you afraid I'll go bad again? Not to mention, B had her whole crew of Scoobies working for her and she _still_ lost. You know when we roll into town none of them are gonna think twice about leaving me out for some Big Bad to eat. They wouldn't move a fucking millimeter to help."

"Slayers have done their work in solitude for centuries," Eva said. "There is no reason you can't uphold that tradition."

"Yeah? How about I'll _also_ be upholding the tradition of Slayers kicking it before they make it out of their goddamn teens." My voice broke on the last word.

"Enough." She held up her hand. "You work for the Council now, and you will do as we say. Must I remind you what the results will be if you choose otherwise?"

"Oh, God, fuck you," I moaned. "Just keep bringing it up. You're fucking murderers, all of you. You don't care what happens to me. You never cared about any Slayer."

Eva didn't answer me for a long time. Then when she did, her voice was quiet, cutting underneath the hum of the road. "The world doesn't care about Slayers, Faith," she said. "But don't for a second believe that it doesn't still need you."

We kept driving.

*

Running down to Sunnydale, closer to the coast. I've been out here three years already and I don't know if I believe in the Pacific just yet. In my head "ocean" still looks like the Atlantic crashing against Massachusetts, dark and angry and white-capped.

I'd like to see what would happen when the two met. Maybe one day I'll take myself down to Panama.

So B is dead and I can finally start calling myself the Chosen One, instead of One of Two. And every time I close my eyes I picture that fall that looks like flying, and I remember being in that body and I remember how strong I was, how strong and fast.

Then I imagine her lying still in the dark, and it's wrong. It's wrong like the universe tilting on a crazy piece of crazy. Buffy doesn't lie still. She moves, fights, yells at the top of her voice. She saves the world and does what's right, and sometimes she even does it for other people.

The world doesn't care about Slayers. Girls die every day. Girls die on purpose, planned suicides or ritual sacrifice, or they die by accident, car crashes or drug overdoses or getting in the way of a gun. It happens every damn minute. Sometimes there's someone left to remember, sometimes not.

She must have decided when they weren't looking. They never would have let her if they'd known.

The thought echoes. She must have decided.

*

The sun was just setting as we pulled into Sunnydale. Edmund steered us through streets going purple with the fading daylight. I huddled in the corner of my seat and watched the town pass outside the window.

It hadn't changed at all. All the houses and buildings were exactly the same as I remembered, even down to the Christmas wreath that was forever on 148 Geller Street's door, no matter what the season.

I wondered how that could be. There were always people disappearing in Sunnydale, then turning up dead or undead, always battles being won and lost and the world getting saved again and again -- but these unmoving parts of it just went on and on.

How could the town even still be here at all, after B was gone? How could people have the fucking balls to wake up in the morning, go to work, go to school, sit down to dinner everyday like nothing had happened? My body trembled as we drove, and I clenched my hands in tight fists.

The car finally stopped in front of a large house in one of Sunnydale's more shishy neighborhoods. We all got out and studied it for a moment from the circular driveway.

"Well," I said, stretching. "Looks like the Council shelled out the big bucks."

Eva didn't answer. She directed the Watchers and me to bring in their bags and equipment -- I hadn't brought anything from the prison that I wasn't already wearing.

"Feel like going shopping tomorrow?" I asked her, as we stepped into the house.

She flicked her eyes over me. "Yes, I suppose you will need a few more clothes."

"Whoa." I paused a second to get my first view of the inside of the house.

Nice didn't really cut it. Pretty fucking gorgeous didn't even cut it. Not that there was much to look at other than bare walls and floors, since there wasn't a lot of furniture in the place beyond tables and chairs. But it was big, and there was shit like skylights and chandeliers and a huge stone fireplace, and I had to say I was impressed.

Upstairs, my room was at least bigger than my prison cell, although nowhere near as cool as the apartment the Mayor gave me. I noticed I'd have to walk past each of the other bedrooms if I wanted to go out, but I had my own bathroom.

I thought I'd take a few minutes to just chill and meditate, propped up against pillows with my eyes closed. I could hear Eva and the Watchers talking to each other downstairs -- sound echoed pretty well through all the empty rooms -- but not individual words.

When I opened my eyes again, I was curled in fetal position and Eva was knocking on the door. "Faith? Are you awake? We have supper ready."

"Yeah, sorry, must've fallen asleep." I stumbled up and almost ran her over as I came out of the room. "Sorry," I muttered again.

I patted my hair as I followed her to the kitchen. Christ, I needed a shower. I was about to ask if she'd brought any soap and shampoo when I saw who was sitting at the table with Edmund and Wallace and stopped dead.

"Faith," said Giles. Nothing else.

"Oh, crap." The words fell out of me before I even knew what they were. "You're not eating with us, are you?"

He blinked. "Indeed not. I came by...that is, Eva phoned to say...that you would be arriving tonight."

God, God, we hadn't been here two hours yet. I could feel the whole big stupid empty house shrinking down on me. "Do the others know?"

He shook his head. "I planned to inform them tonight, after seeing you." He stood then and turned to Eva. "Thank you for...well. The courtesy, I suppose."

"Of telling you?" she said. "Hardly. I simply meant to prevent any unpleasant surprises. However, my brother sends the regards and condolences of the Council, and I personally extend the same."

I looked at Giles then, really looked, and saw the change in him. I guess at first it wasn't obvious -- he had the same tweed, glasses, thin hair. But he was kind of hunched over and moving carefully, like all his muscles were sore. "Giles," I said. Might as well say it now, get it out there. "I'm sorry about B."

He didn't even glance at me. "Yes, well, good night to all of you. I suppose we'll be seeing something of each other in the near future." He shuffled off and after a moment we heard the front door open and close behind him.

"He looks rather unwell," Edmund said into the quiet.

"Small wonder," Eva answered him. "They only buried Buffy last night, apparently."

I felt dizzy, hearing that. B in the ground under a pile of dirt. A body, a corpse that was probably starting to rot already. And where was the rest of her, the part I'd replaced when we switched, that made her Buffy, that walked around and did all those Buffy things and dreamed the same things as me? Where was her soul now?

I had to talk to Angel. "Does the phone work?" I asked Eva. "I need to make a long distance call."

"On the counter, there."

I pulled the phone out as far as the cord would go into the foyer, although Eva and the others seemed too busy setting the table to eavesdrop. I dialed the number Angel had given me months ago, hoping I'd memorized it right.

"Angel Investigations, we help the -- oh, whatever. Just talk." Cordelia, I'd have recognized that voice anywhere. Shit, this just got harder and harder.

"Um, is Angel there?"

"No, who is this?" She sounded suspicious all of a sudden.

"I..."

"Who _is_ this? I'm going to hang up and star 69 you anyway so you might as well --"

"It's Faith, Cordelia. I'm just looking for Angel."

"Faith?" she said. "Faith who broke my face, Faith? Faith who should be in prison, Faith? Since when do they let you call and harass people in mourning?"

"Look -- I'm not in prison anymore. They let me out. Just -- tell me where Angel is, would you?"

"Why should I? So you can come after him again? And remind me to complain to my senator or whoever about letting psychos like you back out on the streets."

Again, words were falling out of my mouth without me. "Cordy, _please_ ," I heard myself saying. "I don't want to hurt anybody anymore." Fuck, was that my voice? I sounded like someone was strangling me.

She was silent for a moment. "Look, fine, I'll level with you, since this conversation is obviously going into fantasyland. Angel did leave something for you -- we were supposed to send it to you in prison but I guess since you're not there anymore.... Where _are_ you, exactly? I need to know whether I should leave town or not."

"I'm in Sunnydale," I mumbled.

"Well, _that_ should be interesting. Try to get killed by a demon or something while you're there, okay?"

I took a breath. "What did Angel want to send me? And where did he go?"

"I don't know, to both questions. He took off after the funeral last night, said he didn't know when he'd be back. Anyway, give me your address and I'll send you this package when I get around to it."

I told her the house and street number, and she repeated them back to me. "Thanks, I --" I said, but she'd already hung up.

*

Somehow sitting in the dark makes it seem like the house disappears. That's of the good, as B and her Scoobies would say. I can just chill here and pretend when the sun rises I'll be someplace else, where no one has an English accent and I don't have to file a whole report whenever I go outside.

So Angel's gone, then. Him and B both, and all that's left is me, poison tip of our twisted little triangle. Faith alone again. Guess I shouldn't be surprised.

I keep thinking about B. I open the blinds to my window and look out where the moon covers the sleeping town in silver, and wonder where the grave is and if her name's carved on a piece of rock at the head of it.

Only Sunnydale never does sleep, does it?

I wonder how long it's going to take the demons to start having thoughts about the Hellmouth. I wonder if any of them still remember me from when I was with the Mayor, if they'll be surprised when they realize I'm slaying again.

I wonder if the Scoobies thought they'd have to do it all by themselves. If they're worried about me being here.

Willow, Xander -- maybe they all hate me and shit now, but they would've creamed themselves to get a chance with me back in the day. Especially Willow, acting so sweet and clean even though she's just as hot for pussy as any of those dykes in the pen, even though you know part of her got off on having a wolf for a boyfriend. Maybe I should have fucked her instead of Xander.

I notice that I think things like that a lot. Not about the fucking, I mean, but other stuff I'd change if I could do it all over again.

I told Eva I don't believe in should have, but sitting in the dark I'm picturing a different world. Maybe everything wouldn't be so fucked up now if I could just go back and change something, anything. Who knows how small it could be, to rewrite how all the big shit fell apart.

*

Everyday Edmund and Wallace loaded up on padding and headgear and put me through my paces, right in the living room where there was no furniture of any kind. Eva would usually stake out a position on the stair landing, looking down at us so she could criticize my technique. Most times she sounded as bored as a hooker giving a blowjob, but once she got totally pissed when I put a fist through the wall.

"I'll thank you not to damage this house!" she hissed. "Your allowance will go toward the cost of repair. Perhaps this will teach you in future to have a more precise control."

I counted it of the good that I'd already gotten new clothes out of her.

Outside of practice, the other two Watchers barely acknowledged my existence. The house was big enough so we didn't run into each other unless we actually wanted to. When we did share space for things like dinner or when Eva called a meeting, they made minimal eye contact and never addressed me directly if they could help it.

Eva didn't want to go out on an actual patrol until we'd been in town a few days. She said news about me would spread as soon as I started killing demons. She wanted to wait and see if someone was planning something bigger than usual, so we could catch them off guard.

"How are you going to know that until it happens?" I argued. "I should be out there now, getting a feel for what's going on."

"I have my sources."

"Yeah? Like what? Demons don't talk unless you got a sword or two stuck in them with more on the way."

"On the contrary," Eva said. "You believe that because you kill demons you understand how they operate. However, there is more to defeating evil than simply violence."

I studied her. "Oh fuck, you bribed them, didn't you?"

She didn't even crack. "Demons do have uses other than fertilizer."

So we finally made our move on a Friday night. Not like I had anything else to do, really, since the Bronze wasn't going to happen with Wesley Number Two on my ass. I was hanging around the house after dinner doing some high kicks and wishing Eva would just buy a fucking TV already, when she came in and announced a meeting.

"Something is happening tonight," she told us.

I perked up. "The Hellmouth?"

"No. Simply a trio of demon warriors who are apparently new to Sunnydale. They have been spotted round one of the crypts in the cemetery."

"Great." I swung my jacket on and punched the air. "My old stomping grounds. Let's go."

"Indeed not. There will be no running off half-cocked under my watch. We must first formulate a plan."

"You know, I find that killing the fuckers usually works best."

"You've no idea what the strengths or weaknesses of these demons are. I hardly need explain the dangers in that."

"Yeah, and I hardly need explain that I've been slaying for just, oh, a _lot_ longer than you. You don't get shit done sitting around and talking about it."

"Neither do you make progress by getting yourself killed." She barely raised her voice.

"Well, that's what I got you guys for, right? You do your job and watch my back, we all get out alive."

Wallace cleared his throat. "We accomplish very little by arguing about it. The Watcher's judgment is of primary consideration in these situations, not the Slayer's."

"I agree," Edmund said. "I'll go further and say she's wasting our time -- the demons will act as soon as night falls, and we need to be ready for them."

"Well, since I'm such a big fucking waste of time, why don't you go and do the superhero thing yourself? Oh, wait, you know why? Because your ass wouldn't last ten seconds out there. You wouldn't even be enough to get stuck in those demons' _teeth_."

Eva's voice cut me off. "Are you quite finished yet?"

"No, but of course you don't give a fuck. Look, you three just work out your plan, whatever, let me know what it is when you're ready to go. I'm gonna step out for a while." I met her eyes, could tell the slight tightness around them meant she was exasperated with me even if she'd never let it show beyond that. "I won't leave the house," I told her. "Not even if it's on fire."

She ignored that and turned back to the Watchers.

I pissed around in my room for half an hour, watching the sky get darker. Then they called me downstairs, we gathered up weapons, and headed out.

The demons were waiting for us when we got there.

*

Yes. This is what it was like. They're strong, they're ugly, they're twice my size, they kick my ass all over the cemetery and I fucking love it, I _love_ it. I can feel my heart trying to leap out of my chest, every muscle in my body strung tight like a guitar string and there's blood rushing hot and fast all through me, God, I was built for this, I was made for it.

B never felt this way. She never enjoyed it. She felt the power of slaying but she was scared of it, afraid it would take her over. Christ, maybe she was right. Feeling like this, it's like the world's ten thousand miles away and what I do here and now, with the lives of these demons, doesn't mean shit outside of kill or be killed.

Kicking, punching, flipping bodies over headstones, the snap and crunch of bone and the wet sound of fluids in wrong places. Fuck, it never got this good in the pen.

I catch glimpses of the Watchers while I'm fighting. Eva stays as far away as she can, crossbow held tight with both hands. The other two came out with taser guns at first, but had to drop them because I kept getting in the way. Now they go for whatever they can get at with their swords, metal flashing.

I'm covered in sweat, hair flopping in my face in wet clumps. It's getting harder to clench my fists tight, and my head is getting that spinny feel that means I've gotten a few too many punches.

But that's also what I was built for. To win, even when -- _especially_ when -- all the cards are stacked against me.

The demons roar, and fight, and die.

When the storm clears I stand over the body of the last one, my hands still wrapped around its neck, gulping air like I've just broken the top of the water after a deep-sea dive.

It's been a long time, and it takes me a few moments before I let go.

*

Eva said we should check out the crypt the demons were hanging around, to see if they were up to anything extra special. The guys shouldered their guns and started walking almost before the words got out of her mouth. If she said jump they'd fucking break a leg to do it.

It was the typical shitty house of stone, spider webs hanging everywhere and the whole place smelling like rank death. Eva and the Watchers opened up the tombs without even wrinkling their noses, studied the walls and the architecture and put their heads together to talk about demons. After ten minutes of being ignored I slid out for some air.

And got the living shit scared out of me by the Scooby gang.

"Oh no," Xander said. "This is worse than a demon. Much worse."

One by one they lowered the weapons they were carrying -- swords, stakes, a crossbow. I braced my legs a little wider apart and flexed my hands as we stared at each other.

Xander, Willow, Giles, a girl I vaguely remembered meeting when I was Buffy. And Spike. Spike?

As usual, Xander broke the silence first. "Long time no headtrip, Faith. How long's it gonna be before you get back to killing people, 'cause I'd like to leave town before then."

"You sound like Cordelia," was all I could think to say.

If it was possible, his glare got even darker.

For some reason I looked to Giles before I spoke again, but he didn't meet my eyes. In fact, he barely seemed interested in the conversation. "Look," I began. "I'm not here for trouble. I'm the Slayer and I --"

"When did that stop you before?" Willow interrupted, and the other girl gave her a droopy wet little look. Yeah, now I remembered her. "Just because you're the Slayer doesn't make you safe. Once criminally insane always criminally insane, I say." She shifted. "Or I would say, if we ran into you more often."

"I'd say now qualifies as more than enough," Xander said.

Something deep and nasty in me lit on fire, a lingering spark from the demon fight. "You know what?" I said. "You're right. I'm not safe. And you don't want to be getting in my face with that. Do ya, Red?"

"God, you're just as crazy as ever, aren'tcha?" Xander moved in close, sliding his hand over the grip of his crossbow. "You think you can just come back to Sunnydale and act like you're _not_ a homicidal maniac? Didn't work the first time."

Before I could stop myself I kicked the crossbow out of his hands and caught it out of the air, bringing the point of the thin wooden stake right up under his chin. His eyes went wide and I heard gasps from the girls. "Who's acting?" I gave him a crazy grin. "And didn't I say something about getting in my face?"

"This should be somm'at interesting," Spike offered.

I saw the fear in Xander's eyes, and it was like drinking, like the poison of alcohol spinning my head and making me sick all at the same time. The moment swelled with it, threatening to wash over us.

 _Don't_ , I heard someone say, and then I realized it wasn't aloud, it was inside my head. _If you hurt any of us, I'll hurt you back._

Willow had moved up beside Xander and was staring at me.

"What the fuck..." My arm felt like spaghetti suddenly. The crossbow drifted down to my side.

Xander stepped back, a hand to his throat, glaring daggers at me.

I took a breath, found my thoughts in the swirl of my mind and clutched them tight. "Don't do that again," I told Willow. "I don't care if you think you're the goddamn Witch of the West. You stay out of my fucking head."

"And you stay out of our way," she said. Her eyes were big and dark.

"Faith," came Eva's cool voice from behind me. I turned to look at her, breaking the moment. "We must be leaving now."

"Just a moment," Giles spoke up finally. "We have reason to believe three Akashic demons have taken up residence in this crypt, and --"

"All good, G," I said. "The Big Bads got taken care of by the Bigger Bad."

"Ah. Well. I had supposed that would be why you were here."

Eva and the other Watchers stepped up beside me. "My brother told me something of your group, Rupert. I expected the children, but not that you would be working so closely with a vampire."

"He's not like other vampires anymore."

"Yes, we know about the chip. But it would be lax of you to forget that William the Bloody is still a highly dangerous creature."

Spike grinned. "Thanks ever so, pet. S'pose Watchers are the only people who get that nowadays, Ripper here excluded."

"Spike is no more dangerous than your Slayer," Giles said quietly.

I could feel everyone's eyes turn to me, except for Eva, who gave him a long, level look. For once, he didn't glance away.

Finally she said, "We have exhausted our business here. Until next time, Rupert."

I hefted the crossbow in my hand. "I'll be keeping this," I said to Xander, avoiding Willow's eyes.

We left. I didn't have the nerve to ask Eva how much she'd seen, but she didn't bring anything up. So I stayed quiet, and balanced the crossbow in my lap the whole drive home.

*

Every night, I patrol. No plans required, other than me staking any vamps on sight. Eva and the Watchers alternate who gets to go with me.

Another week passes, Edmund and Wallace move out, Norris and Marcher move in. I can finally walk around Sunnydale without a guard. Not that the town is all that exciting, but it's better than being inside the house.

Everyday I sleep till Eva wakes me up for training and studying. After that I have the option of eating dinner with everyone, but usually I head out into town for something to eat, relishing the chance to be alone for once. They're all right with it as long as I'm back in time for patrol.

Eva's got me learning species of demons, famous vampires, ancient prophecies, all the crap Giles never bothered to teach B. Half the time Eva's lectures put me to sleep right on top of her musty old books and I drool all over the pages. But sometimes she lets me read the Watchers' diaries, and in between all the dried up prose I find a lot of interesting shit, stories about Angelus, or William the Bloody, or Kakistos.

If I'm in the right mood, I read what the Watchers have to say about their Slayers.

Usually there's more about the baddies the girls fought than the girls themselves, almost like the only reason the Slayers are in there to begin with is because they can fight. That makes the diaries hard to swallow -- page after page of "the Slayer defeated this foe," and "the Slayer dispatched that foe," and nothing about who they were, how they lived, how they dreamed.

Whenever I'm almost to the end of a book I get a tight feeling in my chest, wondering what kind of violent death the next Slayer's going to have. The details are always skimpy, just like the personal stuff, but there is enough for me to get the basics. They died from vamps, mostly, a few from magic. A couple in Europe and New England were even burned by humans because people thought they were witches.

The one thing that's the same is they're always so young. I can't get over that, how young they are.

*

The envelope finally arrived on a Monday, postmarked from Los Angeles, return address Angel Investigations. Norris came in with the mail, slapped it on the kitchen table in front of me, left without saying anything.

In my room I let the pages spill out onto my bed, the paper soft and creamy. They were drawings. Over a dozen, all drawings of me.

I stared at myself reflected in them, over and over, lines in dark pencil and ink. Some of the portraits seemed finished, others like he just started them and stopped only when they began to look like me.

Me everywhere, framed by the visitors booth in the pen, standing in a kitchen with my back to him, kicking at something high and hard, my face warped in anger, rain-streaked or maybe tear-streaked, smiling into a phone, sleeping.

There was also a letter. Short, the lines spaced far apart.

"I'm sorry for leaving. I don't know if it will be months this time. I hope not. I hope you were right, and that you can take care of yourself. I don't know what the Council will have planned for you now. Be careful. You've come so far, Faith."

I didn't know I was crying until a tear dropped onto the paper, crystal clear before sinking into a darkening oval. I pushed the letter and pictures away, curled onto my side and let the rest of the tears stain my sheets.

He was wrong, so wrong. I hadn't gone anywhere. I was right fucking back where I started.

I cried for what felt like hours, stupid drippy kind of crying that never wanted to stop. Squeaky noises came out of my throat, and they scared the crap out of me because I hadn't sounded like that since I was a kid.

Finally I looked up, and it was dark inside my room. I checked my clock. It was already after eight thirty. "Fucking fuck," I muttered, and started changing my clothes.

Downstairs, Marcher was sitting at the kitchen table reading. He looked up at me.

"Sorry I'm late," I said. "Why didn't you come get me?"

"I did. It didn't seem as though you were quite ready to go out yet."

I looked down. "Oh. Well, thanks, I guess. I'm ready now."

Eva and Norris weren't anywhere around when we headed out. I guessed they were taking the night off.

From the beginning I'd pegged Norris as another one straight off the Watcher assembly line, but Marcher seemed all right. He was this half-Indian dude, about Wesley's age, not a big talker. I didn't get the feeling from him that he salted the earth I walked on like damn near every other person I've met in my life. I mean, he was no Angel or anything, but I was cool with that.

We ended up chasing two vamps out of the cemetery and into the wooded area surrounding it. Apparently they'd decided it was their night to be clever and split up. "I'll take him," Marcher said, and ran after one of them with his taser gun.

My vamp kept to the edge of the cemetery, which I appreciated because I didn't much feel like getting lost in the woods. I finally caught up with him in a small clearing, and he was dust in half a minute.

"Staked your ass," I snapped, brushing off my clothes. "Ten points for Faith, zip for undead fuckhead."

"Worth about five, I'd say," a voice said behind me. "Stupid vamps bein' easy to kill and all."

I whirled, stake held high. "Speaking of stupid vamps, didn't anyone ever tell you sneaking up behind a Slayer is a _bad_ idea?"

"Who's sneaking?" Spike blew out smoke and pitched his cigarette. "You were the one who came crashin' in here with Mr. Fuckhead."

"Yeah? So why don't you learn from his example and run before I decide to rack up more points?"

"Was just leavin' anyway," he said, but he didn't.

I lowered the stake. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "Payin' my respects."

I looked past him and saw the headstone. I moved closer, until I could read the inscription. "Oh," I said, and my voice sounded small and tight to my ears.

He nodded.

The ground was still pretty bare -- only a sprinkling of grass had started to grow. I kept away from that part. "Why is she..." I said, and had to swallow. "Why isn't she in the cemetery?"

"The others wanted to keep it a secret as long as they could. Knew there'd be trouble once word got out."

"How were they supposed to do that? Wouldn't people notice? I mean, it's _B_."

"They've got their little ways. Doesn't really matter now, though, since you're here."

It didn't seem real. Seemed like someone had just set this place up, pulled out all the grass, put the headstone there with her name on it. She was probably just hanging out somewhere else. Maybe with Angel, even, wherever the fuck he was. My hand reached out to touch the carved B of her name.

"Hard to believe, innit? I wouldn't meself, except I was there."

I looked around at him. "I still don't get why you're --" Then I saw the wetness on his bony cheeks. "Oh, no. Don't tell me." The laugh started in my stomach and spilled out into the clearing. I bent double with the force of it. "Another vamp chasing after a piece of Slayer ass. God, this is so...fucking...typical! Like B would ever let you within ten feet!"

His mouth twisted and he swiped angrily at his face. "You wouldn't know sod all about it."

"I don't know anything about B fucking vampires?" I snorted. "Why don't you clear a little something up for me, little William Bloody. Do you have a soul? Do you brood 24/7? Have you had a stick shoved up your ass for the last one hundred years?"

He didn't say anything then, just looked at me with those cold hard eyes.

"What is it about Sunnydale that fucks with vampires' heads? Literally, I guess, in your case." I was still snickering. "I mean, you really wanted to get into B's pants? Hey, you know, now might be your chance, what with her extreme deadness and all. Probably more your style anyway."

He morphed into game face. "Maybe my style's _you_ dead, and thus shuttin' your gob."

That just made me laugh even harder. "Oh, you wanna rumble? I gotta say, nothing makes my night like seeing a vampire writhing on the ground in pain."

"Is that what you think'll happen, pet?" he said, voice silky.

"I know what the chip does. C'mon, you wanna bite me? Let's go, fang face."

"I wouldn't be countin' on all that as protection from ol' Spike. There's plenty of other ways of hurtin' Slayers."

I gave him my best sexy grin. "Haven't you heard? I'm not like other Slayers."

We started circling each other, edging away from B's grave.

"So," I said, "you wondering yet how I know so much about you?"

"Somebody's got a loose-flappin' jaw, is what I'm thinkin'."

My grin spread wider. "Yeah, somebody like _you_. Don't you remember, Spike? The Bronze? Let's see, what did I say...something about riding you, squeezing you like warm champagne until you popped and begged for more. One of my best lines, I gotta say -- I need to use it again sometime. Ring a bell?"

He stopped and stared at me. "What -- that was, was Buffy."

"Wrong Slayer." I came up to him, pressed close against his cold hard body so I could smell the leather of his coat and the stain of cigarette smoke. "What, nobody ever told you about our little body-switching adventure?"

His face morphed back to human and his eyes were so wide they would have fallen out if they weren't attached. He stepped away from me, opened his mouth to say something, and nothing came out.

That, of course, was when Marcher came crashing in. Spike got a good look at the taser gun slung over his shoulder. "Supposin' that would be my cue." He gave me another look, young and scared this time, and disappeared in the direction of the cemetery.

Marcher looked after him curiously. "Did you take care of the other vampire?"

I nodded. "Scattered around in little tiny pieces. You?"

"Yes," he said simply. "Who was that?"

I figured he'd find out from Eva eventually. "Vamp named Spike. He's harmless though. There's a chip in his head, zaps him whenever he attacks humans."

"Now why on earth aren't there more of those?" he wondered.

I started laughing again.


	3. Chapter 3

Most nights when I'm done with patrolling I'm too wired to fall asleep or meditate. Slaying makes you hungry and horny, I've said before, and it's still true. So I unwind the way I did it back when.

There's always some kind of leftovers in the fridge, since the Watchers don't seem to know how to cook to order. Tonight it's some kind of eggplant and vegetables over pasta. I warm it up for a couple of minutes in the microwave, then sit in the yellow light of the kitchen and eat. The rest of the house is all quiet and dim, and the sound of my fork clinking on the plate echoes slightly.

By the time I stumble back to my room the sun's just coming up, the sky outside getting lighter at its bottom edge. I strip down to a tank top and panties, slide between my cool sheets, and slip a hand between my legs.

Sometimes I can get myself off almost right away. Sometimes it takes longer, and to help myself out I think about things. When I've had a good night slaying I'll pick a movie star like Jude Law or Angelina Jolie. Sometimes I'll think about people I've fucked in the past, or wanted to.

Sometimes I have bad nights. I've thought about sex with Angel then, both imaginary and the time he pretended to be Angelus. And I've pictured being with B, her going down on me or the other way around, fingers working through hot slick fluids and over the curves of breast and hip.

I've fantasized about them in every position I know, and sometimes I'll work out whole scenarios where they realize how much they want me and beg to touch me, because after a bad night that's when it takes me the longest.

Sometimes the fucking I imagine is angry and nasty and fast, all about who can come first and still be breathing on the other side. Other times...other times it's different, and afterwards I want to crawl out of my skin because I know it would never happen that way.

I don't imagine fucking them both at once. If my thoughts start going there I yank them right back.

It's been a long time since I've slept with anyone, guy or girl. There were a few in L.A., before I got mixed up with Wolfram & Hart. And Riley, before them.

It's not that I couldn't get someone here in Sunnydale. I see people checking me out when I'm on the streets. I know all I'd have to do is look at them twice and they'd come running. But I haven't been to the Bronze since I got here, and I haven't really talked to anybody except the Watchers and the Scoobies.

Truth is, I haven't wanted to. For some reason now, I'd rather just do it this way. Lying in the dark alone, touching myself, thinking about things.

*

Marcher was indeed a good little Watcher and told Eva about my running into Spike. The next morning she asked what I'd talked about with him.

"He was visiting B's grave," I said. "Guess after working together against that hell god he felt kind of sorry."

"Imagine that." Her expression was completely disbelieving. More than that, she knew I was hiding a lot more. She kept me in training way later than usual, so by the time I got out of the house for dinner it was well after eight. Pissed me off -- I had to be back for patrol by ten but there was no way I was going to sit and eat with them after she pulled that shit.

I stuck a stake in my waistband and headed out. I figured I'd go for sandwiches at the coffee shop, but before I could get there Spike herded me into an alley. Speak of the devil, the saying goes. Guess I should have counted my blessings it wasn't a Scooby.

"Look, you," he said, ducking my backhand. "None of that now."

"Still don't wanna piece of me? Or maybe you _do_ , just not the old-fashioned way."

He glared. "Sorry to disappoint, but I don't fancy gettin' my manly parts lopped off by a mouthy bint like you."

"If my mouth was anywhere near your manly parts, Spike, you'd still be looking for the train that hit you a hundred years later."

He tilted his head to the side, watching me. "You really like the sound of your own voice."

"Okay," I said, "not that this hasn't been the party of the millennium and all, but I'm a busy girl. Why don't you tell me what you want before I start lookin' for a place to put my stake?"

"Nothin' much that I want, pet, but I'm pretty sure I know what you're after."

"Oh yeah?" I grinned at him. "What's your theory, William B?"

He grinned back at me then, a nasty twist of his mouth. "You want to be Buffy."

I didn't change my expression. "That's fascinating, Sigmund Freud. Tell me another one."

"How about this -- sure you've heard it before. You're not Buffy, you'll never be Buffy, and you could never _hope_ to be Buffy. Even dead."

I stepped closer to him, grinding my right fist into my left hand. "And what makes you think I care?"

"You're here, aren't you?" He leaned in, the black leather coat making his skinny body seem bigger than it was. "Tryin' to be the top of the white hat pack? But you know you're not foolin' anybody. Don't you, Slayer?"

I looked at him for a moment, slid the stake out of my waistband and held it up in front of his face, turning it back and forth. "I hope you've got a point to all this, William B. Because you're about to feel mine."

"Hit a soft spot, did I?"

"Actually, no. You're just annoying the fuck out of me. You know what I do to vamps who annoy me? Oh, let's see. Pretty much the same thing every Slayer does with vampires."

His eyes gleamed. "Thought you weren't like other Slayers."

The punch was loud enough for people to hear it in L.A., but that kind of thing is pretty much situation normal in Sunnydale. No one came running around the corner of the alley to see what was up, and Spike, in game face with blood dripping from his busted lip, just laughed at me.

"You're not even as strong as other Slayers," he lisped. "Weakest little love tap I ever got."

I hit him again, and he knocked into a dumpster hard enough to make it skid on the concrete with a screeching sound. The coat flapped around him. "Shut the fuck up," I said. "Shut the fuck up, you undead peace of shit."

He was still laughing, the sound like a balled-up piece of paper crunching underfoot. "That the best you can do? I can't believe your Watcher lets you out and about by yourself."

I kicked him in the stomach, heard wind he didn't need gush out of him. Then I gave him a roundhouse kick to the head for good measure. When he swung his face back to look at me his hair was mussed and spotted with blood and dirt, and there was a cut next to his eye. I lunged toward him, pulled his head back so his Adam's apple stabbed the air, and brought my stake to his chest.

His yellow eyes rolled in their sockets. "What's it gonna be, then, Slayer?" Voice raspy and tight.

I pressed down on the stake, feeling it pierce his flesh and sink in. Staking was usually so quick in the heat of the moment, the wood driving through skin, muscle, ribs, no resistance because it always happened so fast. I wondered if he'd turn to dust if I just touched his heart with the stake, or if I had to push it all the way through.

He grunted. "Go on, finish." Fucker was still laughing, his fangs stained with blood. "Buffy never got as far as this, you know."

I froze. The wood of the stake was smooth in my hand, the grip gnarled and knotty. There was a tear track running down his face, diluting the blood there and turning it a brighter red. I looked into his eyes and all of a sudden I recognized what was in them, even behind that demon color.

I let go and stepped back. He crouched where he was, snarling at me. "You're a pathetic excuse for a Slayer."

"And you're a pathetic excuse for a vampire," I said. "Get out of my sight, Spike."

I didn't give him a chance to leave, though. I walked out first.

*

I wonder about Angel, how he's dealing with it. I wonder if he's somewhere by himself brooding, if he's talking to anyone, enjoying the scenery, fighting evil. I wonder if he's even still alive, or as alive as vampires get, anyway.

But in a way, I'm not really worried about that last one. I know Angel will be okay. Even if he does sometimes do stupid shit like sleeping with Darla, Angel and dying aren't meant for each other.

I'm not sure why that is, though. You'd think someone would get bored or fed up with it all after two hundred years. I'm not even twenty yet and I can already see I wouldn't want twenty more years of this life. But at the same time, I know I'm not ready to give it up just yet. There's something in me, in Angel, in most everybody I guess, that makes us fight like hell to survive.

And of course that gets me thinking about B, about swan diving and Slayers, life chopped off at the end and lying still forever in the dark. I'm trying to find a part of me that understands what that means, that really _gets_ it. I'm wondering if B did, how much she realized before she made the choice.

I remember when B stabbed me, but the memories are like looking at something through a veil. I know I was sure I was dead, that it would be over for good. But the only thing I really cared about was her not getting my blood for Angel. Guess that says something about how fucked in the head I was at the time.

When I woke up, I was just angry. I didn't really think about how close I came. I mean, I'm always close when I'm slaying. If I stopped to think what it meant every single time some demon almost did me in, I'd probably go crazy. Crazier.

I think about B, and I wonder if it's better that she _had_ the choice, instead of getting killed when she wasn't ready, like all these other Slayers I'm reading about. Right now I don't know what I'd want, although sometimes I kind of think I'd rather not see it coming.

Yeah, probably better if it just catches me off guard, if one second I'm kicking evil's ass and the next it turns out it's my time for real. I mean, I never did like making plans.

*

I managed to grab a bite to eat after all, but the food tasted like sand in my mouth and I left it half-finished. It was almost ten when I finally started heading back to the house. I had my cell phone on me. I thought about calling for half a second, but I figured I'd get there in time.

Too bad I forgot that shit about not making plans.

I was almost out of the town center when three vamps crossed the street a block ahead of me. They weren't even in human face, they were that stupid. I felt a jolt go through my nerves and picked up speed so I wouldn't lose them.

When I turned the corner they were disappearing into a building. I stood outside for a moment, looking up at it and feeling my heart shiver with recognition. The last time I was inside that place I'd jumped from a balcony with a knife wound in my stomach.

It's weird how life works out, I thought. But I guess it didn't really surprise me that much either.

I went in and took the elevator up to the penthouse, Slayer sense at maximum volume. It was like I could smell where they'd gone, see it floating in front of me like a trail of demon nature. There was a short hallway to the front door, and as I walked down it clutching my one stake I wondered if any of the old furniture was left, three years later, and if any of the furniture was wooden.

There were voices loud enough to hear through the door, but I couldn't tell how many vamps were inside. My nerves were singing jingle bells as I hovered in the hallway. It was the first time I'd be doing any real slaying without one of the Watchers there with me.

I took a deep breath, clutched my stake, and kicked the door open.

There were six of them, some standing and some sitting around on plastic chairs and cardboard boxes. I couldn't see anything I recognized from before -- actually, the place was trashed. It looked like somebody had been at the paint on the walls with a chainsaw, there was glass all over the floor, holes and bloodstains in random places. The big window was covered over with a black sheet, held up by duct tape and nails. The vamps in their fugly clothes and bumpy faces didn't really add much to the decor.

"I'll take a wild guess and say you're going for the ghetto fabulous look," I said.

They gaped at me for two seconds, then one -- a woman -- stood up and purred, "This is new. Dinner gets delivered."

I smiled at her. "You might find me a little tough to chew on."

Another guy who was already standing stepped forward. "She's the Slayer. The one who was working for the Mayor."

He didn't even have to explain which Mayor he meant. I loved that. "Got it in one, fang face. And you made a rhyme! Now what I want to know is, why the hell are you in my apartment?"

"Your lease was up," the first vamp sneered. "I heard you were in town. I also heard they had you locked up because you're as crazy as the Mayor was."

I stepped closer to her, moving slow and turning the stake in my hands. "That's right," I said. "We did make a pretty good team." She stood still as I got right up in her face, close enough to feel the lack of heat coming off her, to see that her ridged forehead was completely poreless -- lucky bitch. "Except now he's gone, and Sunnydale needs a new Big Bad, doesn't it?"

"And that's you?" She glared at me.

"Well, no, actually," I said. "But it sure as hell isn't you." I rammed the stake into her chest and pulled it out again.

A look of confusion passed over her face -- God, was Angel the only remotely intelligent vampire to ever exist? Then she turned to dust and exploded.

I turned and grinned. "Who's next?"

The other vamps scrambled up with a roar.

I kicked one in the gut, knocking him backwards into another. A third came up from behind them and I rammed an elbow into his face and punched him in the throat.

Unfortunately that gave the fourth and fifth vamps time to team up. One hit me across the back with a chair and another got me in a stranglehold.

His hand was cold and strong on my throat. "I've never killed a Slayer before," he hissed in my ear.

I got my feet between his before he could squeeze any harder and tried to trip him up. He shifted to keep balance and I flipped us both over, landing on a cardboard box in a tangle of arms and legs. There must have been bricks or something in the box because despite being on top of him I felt stabbing pain in my back.

My stake was still in my hand, though. I turned over and brought it down hard. "Sorry," I said as he exploded. "This isn't gonna be your lucky night."

Still four of them left. One kicked me in the temple with a huge industrial strength boot, and I stumbled for a few seconds trying to stop the room from spinning. Another vamp jumped on me and knocked me into a wall, then kicked the stake out of my hand. It skittered across the floor and disappeared behind a pile of boxes.

I felt anger begin a quick hard burn in my stomach. I guessed I'd be tearing off heads, then.

The vamp who'd lost me my stake got a fist in the nose, the one with the boot got my knee in his balls, the third an uppercut to the chin. I blocked punches, delivered them, kicked and scratched, trying to drive us away from the wall and into the middle of the apartment.

But there were still four to me alone, and as soon as I sent one flying another would come at me again. Their faces were gleeful, smirking, tongues running over fangs and lips like snakes. And I was tired, reeling from getting kicked in the head, blood running down my face from several places.

"You don't look so good, Slayer," one of them said.

"I'll look a lot better covered in your dust," I spat.

They snarled and lunged. I put everything I had into it, fists flying, feet crashing into bodies, leaping, jumping, grabbing chairs and boxes and hurling them at the vamps, breaking more glass underfoot. Droplets of blood kept getting flicked around and I realized I'd busted a knuckle open somehow.

All of me -- everything that was Faith, everything that was the Slayer. But I was so tired already, and I couldn't get my hands on one long enough to take his head off. They backed me into the window, one of them tackling me so we pulled down the black sheet and landed on the balcony.

It was another woman, and she kneeled on my back and yanked my right arm up between my shoulders. "Is this the arm you hold your stake with?" she asked. "Guess you'll be slaying left-handed now. That is, you would be if we were going to let you live."

She pressed harder, cold fingers cutting into my wrist, and my arm felt like it was tearing out of my shoulder. I could feel my muscles straining to hold together, and I screamed.

"That's right," she said. "That's what we like to hear."

I gathered together everything I had left and lunged up as hard as I could, heard the bone snap and felt the pain of it flare all through my body, but that was all right, because the back of my head crashed into hers and she was off me, fuck, she was finally off of me.

I scrambled to my feet and grabbed her by the hair with my good arm. "You pissed me off, bitch," I told her. "That's never a good idea."

The other three vamps were crowding onto the balcony with us, growling deep in their throats. I got up on the railing, dragging the girl vamp after me. "Let go!" she screamed.

I glanced down at the street. It looked about a million miles down, a hundred times as far as it looked the first time. "Sorry, babe, but if I gotta do this jump again I'm taking one of you with me."

They rushed us then, and I stepped over.

The fall felt like my heart was dropping into my stomach and my stomach was trying to climb out through my throat. I kept the vamp under me, her hair blowing up and covering her face, and then we hit the ground like a grand piano.

Or the ground hit us. Felt about the same.

The blood pool under her head was almost black it was so dark, and her eyes in the now-human face were wide and dazed and blue. She was stretched out under me, her body contorted and folded in the sickening wrong way that meant things were broken inside. I doubted she'd be getting up to break my other arm anytime soon.

The wind was knocked out of me, but I crawled off her anyway, managed to stand somehow, and started limping down the street. With every step I tried to suck in air, pushing my chest muscles to work, until finally I could breathe again. It felt like knives in my lungs, but it was breathing.

At the corner I heard the vamps hit the street behind me. I didn't know if they'd jumped as well or taken the elevator like a smarter person than me would do, but I didn't look back to check. I started running.

*

Nothing like blood in all the wrong places to make you look at life with brand new eyes. Nothing like body parts broken and hanging the wrong way, jagged ends of bone cutting into muscle and nerves.

It doesn't feel right, though. I mean, it doesn't feel like the right time for death. It feels like I'm going to make it, like I'm going to get my breath back for real and start running flat out, through the streets of Sunnydale faster than any vamp or demon. Hell, maybe I'll even run right out of town. Then they'll never be able to catch me.

I'm all alone out here. The night looks darker than it's ever been in this shitty godforsaken place, and I'm running by myself -- no B, no Scoobies, no Watchers, no Angel, no Mayor. I don't even know if the vamps are still chasing me. The only thing I can hear is my own feet slapping against the concrete, the whistle of air in my throat.

I don't know if I'm scared or not. This isn't like when I was running from Kakistos, or when I killed Finch, or when I was fighting B before she stabbed me. I don't know what this is. It's just me running, alone, and thinking the dark is so very dark.

My head aches, and for a minute it's like I'm looking at myself from outside my own body -- this girl with shaggy brown hair dwarfed by a long empty road, holding one arm close to her chest and blinking through the blood in her eyelashes.

I remember Eva told me once I was trying for another chance. All I have to say is, this better not be my fucking reward.

*

When I stumbled in through the front door the three Watchers stood, but no one moved right away to help me.

"Where have you been?" Eva said, her voice cold.

"Ran into some vamps." My lip was swollen and the words came out funny. I leaned against the living room wall, trying to get my legs to straighten out and hold me up.

"How many?" She stepped forward and took my arm, guiding me to the kitchen where they kept first aid supplies. Marcher and Norris came after but hung back a little, giving us some space.

I collapsed into a chair at the table. "Six," I told her, wincing as I figured out just why my lungs hurt so much -- fucking broken rib, or two. "Holed up in my old apartment. Staked two, put one down with injuries, but there's three left. I don't think they followed me all the way here."

She started cleaning my cuts with gauze and alcohol. "Why were you at your old apartment?"

"Spotted three of 'em on the street and that's where they ended up. Ouch." I jerked away from the sting.

"Hold still," Marcher advised. "Why didn't you call to let us know you were going after vampires?"

"No time," I told him. "I had to do it then, they were in game face and everything. I had no idea what they could've been up if I hadn't stopped 'em."

"It looks rather like they did a good job of stopping _you_ ," Norris offered.

I whipped my head around, Eva's swab sliding across my eyebrow. "What the fuck is your problem? I'd like to see you go head to head with six vamps and come out with your smart ass still attached." Pain flared bright and hot in my side with the effort of yelling.

Eva had a bandage ready and put it on the cut at my temple. "Norris is quite correct," she said. "You should never have gone after three vampires alone. That you found three more is a risk you should have known was possible, and should have circumvented by avoiding the situation entirely."

"I've fought those odds more times than I can count," I told her. "I did what a Slayer's supposed to do."

"And you nearly got yourself killed in the process. Your actions were highly ill-advised." She finished with my bandages, inspected and wrapped up my arm, then told me to lift my shirt so she could bind my ribs. Norris and Marcher wandered back to the living room.

Eva's hands were cool brushing against my skin. I'd never had anyone patch me up before. I wondered who used to do this for B. Giles? Her mom? One of the Scoobies?

"Now," she said, "approximately what time did you first encounter the vampires?"

"I guess a little before ten. I was on my way back."

She sat back and looked at me over her spectacles. "Was this before or after your encounter with Spike?"

A cold chill trickled down my spine. "What? You mean last night?"

Her expression was carefully blank. "Don't make me repeat my questions, Faith."

"It was...after." I couldn't figure out what she was thinking. "How did you know?"

"He told me."

I pushed my chair back and stood. "Okay. Obviously he told you something sketchy went down, or you wouldn't be acting like I just killed your puppy."

"I'm not acting like anything. I have his word about what happened and I'm merely trying to determine if he spoke truthfully."

"Well, why don't you tell me just why you'd believe anything from a vampire? Especially that one."

"I wouldn't automatically disbelieve him, considering the circumstances."

I let the temperature of my voice fall to match hers. "And just what's that supposed to mean?"

"I hardly need explain myself," she said. "Suffice to say he came to the house and asked to speak to me. Then he told me you propositioned him and offered to help rid him of his chip in return for working for you."

"He's a fucking liar!" I yelled at her. "I can't believe you're even talking to me about this. And he's fucking crazy. He wanted me to stake him, that's what happened."

She tilted her head. "And you didn't?"

"No. He's neutered with that chip in his head, what would be the point?"

"I confess I don't understand your line of reasoning. Weren't you just arguing that you did what a Slayer is supposed to do in going after the other vampires?"

"Look, B never staked him the whole time he's been in Sunnydale, and now he's workin' with Giles and company, so what's the big? I didn't stake one harmless vampire, but I _did_ stake two who _don't_ have chips in their heads. Why don't you get off my back with this bullshit?"

She stood then, packing the first aid kit back up with quick, careful movements. "I am not going to debate with you what you should and should not have done. I am simply going to tell you the consequences of your actions." She looked at me. "Beyond your injuries, that is."

"You're punishing me? I look like a human punching bag and now you're making it worse? Great, just great. Bring it on, I say."

She ignored that, as usual. "You are not to leave the house alone again unless it is for patrol or some other pre-approved outing. At least one of us must always accompany you, be it day or night. You will take all of your meals with us as well."

"Wonder-fucking-ful."

"This is somewhat moot, however, as I am going to design a new schedule of training for you such that you will always be occupied with something. You will follow a strict sleeping schedule as well, which I shall expect you to adhere to if you wish to be in top physical condition."

I leveled my gaze at her. "Anything else?" I asked calmly.

"I am going to put a warding spell around the house, to prevent any beings of supernatural origin from entering. As you'll recall, one of my original rules was that no vampires were to be invited in."

I walked out of the kitchen, not caring if she was following or what.

Her voice came right behind me. "Faith."

I kept walking, was almost at the top of the stairs when she interrupted me by raising her voice for the first time in probably all the time I'd known her.

"You will abide by these conditions, Faith," she said. "You know what it will mean if you do not."

I slammed my door on her words.

*

Anger dulls pain. I think that's like a law of nature or something. The whole time I was hurting B and Angel and Wesley and everyone else, I was actually hurting Faith more than anyone. Only I kept telling myself I was angry at them so I wouldn't realize it.

Not that I'm in any pain about this shit with Eva and Spike. I'm talking about my ribs and broken arm.

Thing is, anger also means bad thoughts and bad choices. Can't really afford those right now. So I try to meditate, breathing around the broken glass in my chest, hoping for some of that inner peace to tell me just what the hell I should do.

I fall asleep, of course. I'm tired, and when I was in the pen all I had to do was blink to make the hours pass by.

In my dream there's white light everywhere, warm and cradle-like, except I know it's not that because I'm not dying. I blink again, and the light turns into a bed sheet with sun coming through it, draped over me so I can't see anything else. Then someone pulls it off of me, laughing.

B and I are making the bed in her room again, the sheets white and smooth and empty.

"Who's this for now?" I ask. I pick up a pillow and stuff it into a case.

"Not you," she says. "You've been asleep long enough."

"I thought you told me good morning."

"You're right, I did." She smiles and tucks a corner under the mattress, then looks up at me. "What's it like?"

"You tell me," I say. "I'm dying to know."

"I asked you first." She tucks the other corner under, smooths her hand over the top of the bed so the wrinkles are all gone. "And you're the only one of us who isn't dying."

"Are you going to listen to my story?" I ask her.

She takes the pillow from me and puts it on the bed. "Yes," she says, and touches my face.

So I begin to speak.

*

When I woke up, I could tell it was almost dawn from the purple tint to the sky. I got out of bed, moving quickly and quietly. I didn't have any bags except the big paper shopping kind from the Sunnydale mall, but that was enough. One was big enough to carry weapons and a change of clothes, and that was all I needed.

The house was dead silent. I slipped past the other bedroom doors, careful not to rustle the bag. Downstairs I searched through the weapons chest the Watchers kept in the dining room. The crossbow I'd nicked from Xander was there, sitting on a pile of sharpened stakes. Those went into the bag, on top of clothes and the envelope with Angel's pictures.

What really interested me were the taser guns. I picked one up, inspecting the trigger and safety catch. I knew from watching the Watchers that it had to be reloaded after each use, which would be pretty hard one-handed. I tucked it into my waistband and slung two more into the bag. The more the merrier, I figured. Then I ducked into the kitchen to grab some first aid supplies.

I had the front door open already when I remembered. I went back into the dining room and put my cell phone on top of the chest. Then I left.

It was that time at the end of the night when most vamps started making tracks. The faint light from the east turned everything fuzzy and dim, and the streets were still and quiet, like they were waiting for morning.

I walked as fast as I could, my boots knocking against the asphalt, but it was agony to breathe and it took me longer than usual. By the time I got to the town center the purple sky had become pink, yellow and pale blue, and I could see the fiery ball of the sun erupting from the rooftops. That was fine with me, though. That was exactly what I wanted.

There was dried blood in the street outside the apartment building. I looped my good arm through the handles of the bag and gripped a taser gun so it pointed in front of me. Then I went inside and took the elevator up.

This time the hallway, like the town and the Watchers' house, was silent. I stood outside the apartment, breathing deep, flexing my fingers around the grip of the gun. If the vamps were inside they were probably asleep -- they could have heard the thunder of my heart otherwise.

The latch was still broken from earlier. I pushed the door open, stepped in. Dumped the bag out on the floor and started slaying.

The black curtain was up over the window again. For a split second I thought they'd gotten more vamps -- there were about seven or eight people lying around on the floor, a few tangled in blankets. Then I realized I was looking at dead humans. They must have found some during the night.

Anger dulls pain. The taser blast hit the first vamp who came rushing at me, fifty thousand volts of electric current buzzing along the wires. He fell to the floor. I dropped the gun, grabbed another and hit a second one less than two feet in front of me.

The third got close enough to kick the last gun away, but I managed to clip him on the chin with my foot. He whipped around with the force of it, turned back and lunged for me again with his vamp face on. I jumped to the side and tried to brain him with the gun still in my hand, but he ducked at the last minute.

I dropped the gun, did a spin kick and got the vamp square in the chest. With my left elbow I struck him across the jaw. He stumbled backwards and bounced off the wall. Before he could stand up straight again I picked up one of the stakes and rammed it home.

Dust.

The other two were lying stunned, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the girl vamp cowering behind some boxes. She had a blanket over her shoulders, and her skin was pasty, her eyes bloodshot.

I stalked past the bodies on the floor and ripped the black curtain down from the window. The sunlight was weak, but it fell directly on the girl. She tried to scuttle out of its path and burst into flame instead, screaming like a child.

I dusted the others where they lay.

There were three dead humans in the apartment. Their necks were covered in bite marks, their skin blue and cold. Their mouths looked clean of blood, but there was still the risk. I took some extra stakes and one by one, I plunged them into their hearts.

There was no blood. I knelt over the last one and closed my eyes for a minute, trying to stop my hand from shaking.

When I could move again, I left the stakes where they were and repacked my bag with the unused stakes, taser gun and the crossbow at the bottom. Walked out to the hallway, got into the elevator, pressed the button for the ground floor.

As it started to descend I lifted my good hand and wiped the tears from my face.

*

An hour out of Sunnydale, heading south. The sun a fire in my eyes, the salt air of the Pacific rushing in through the open window of the truck. The road unwinding behind, like so many others I've been on.

I still remember the first day I got here, how I hit the beach before going into town, how I stood and stared at the blue-green monster of the ocean for hours and hours. I stayed until the sun set, because I'd never seen that happen over water.

It was night by the time I slipped into Sunnydale, found a motel, asked the clerk where the young people went to party.

It's morning now, and I'm heading south. The truck driver asks me where I'm going, and I tell him I don't know. Then I think about that, and I tell him maybe I'll just follow the Pacific down, as far as it'll take me.

I tell him I'm thinking of finding out what happens when it meets the Atlantic.

______________________________

 _end_

 _November 2001_

 

Sophia: did the apartment work out?  
Jintian: it will whenever I write it  
Jintian: I'm going to have her swing by there, find vamps have taken it over who recognize her as the Mayor's chick, get all riled up with her psychologically whack self, slay them, run home, get yelled at and threatened by her Watcher, decide to get the fuck out of Sunnydale  
Jintian: in between there somewhere I will attempt to show that she has grown as a person. I think.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticism welcome.


End file.
